Friend and Foe
by Firetoast312
Summary: An I.M.C. Pilot can do nothing as two squadmates, close friends, die during the war and watching the last three desert one at a time and join the Militia. After becoming his enemy, he sincerely hopes of never meeting them again on the battlefield, unfortunately fate and a promise has something else in store for him.
1. Chapter 01: Friend and Foe

"Friend and Foe"

Exhausted from the battle, Alan slid against a battle-scarred wall to catch his breath. The Militia had been constantly pushing I.M.C. forces back one battle at a time and showed no signs of stopping, especially after Demeter. The man, panting for air, looked up to find his squadmate, Chris, look at him with a troubled expression that could be read even under his helmet. The two had been the last two of their squad up until this point and without replacement pilots available they were on their own. "Why do we keep fighting like this?" He asked, looking at the imaginary blood covering his hands.

"What," Alan panted, "Do you mean?" This kind of talk is what put pilots and grunts alike under watch as deserters have become more common after they were trapped on the frontier. Right now, he didn't like where this was going.

"I mean, seeing all the destruction we've caused. Makes you think, why are we fighting on this side? Meanwhile the Militia fights for their homes, a place we can't go back to anymore." He said, looking out to the distance where a battle was still raging on.

"Oh no." Alan responded, astonished at this kind of opportunistic attitude. "Don't do this, not like Vincent and Iori." He begged, shaking his head in hopes of trying to get through to him but it didn't seem to budge the other man's choice. "After all we've went through?" This seemed to hit a nerve in Chris.

"I held Rose in my arms while she bled to death on Victor, Roy died on Demeter, and the others?" He yelled, clenching his fists beside him. "I bet they had the right decision to leave this damn company. I thought you would at least understand that."

"Don't make me do this Chris," The tired pilot said in a defeated tone. "We've known each other for how long?"

"Long enough it seems." He said in disgust. Alan took his old Hammond P2011, the handgun that had served alongside him since training. He aimed it directly at the friend-turned-traitor. "You won't do it. I know you won't."

"You know me," Alan said light-heartedly trying to dissuade him, "'Anything to kill a Militia.'"

"But not a friend." The traitor retorted, "The battles already lost for the I.M.C. and I've requested an evac ship to pick you up but this is it. I hope we never have to meet on the battlefield, so uh, bye." He stated, throwing down his gear that had trackers in them. Before Alan could even utter another word, his former friend jumped down from the small building they were in and sprinted off into the distance, cloak making him almost vanish.

With his pistol still in the air, the lone pilot pulled the trigger at nothing hearing only a click of an empty chamber over and over again. He dropped his arm with an audible thud as it hit the stone ground beneath him. That was it, he was now the last one left of his once welcoming team from training. He remembers the days when he was always given a hard time- in a friendly way- for being the 'new guy' and now he was all that remained of them. How Riggs constantly sparred and taught hand to hand with him, Rose's kind words during troubled times that even extended to the grunts when they returned all alone, Roy's laidback attitude that often got him in trouble but alleviated much tension that ran on the ships, even Iori, who mainly kept to herself, would frequently tease those who had taken a fancy for her. 'It keeps them going.' She claimed but Alan, Roy, and a number of grunts believed she just did it for fun. They even made a few bets on who was going to be 'next on the menu'. The pilot smirked at the memory before remembering where he was. Alone on a world being overrun by the Militia.

It didn't take long before an I.M.C. dropship arrived at his location, a squad of grunts not wasting any time in picking Alan up and carrying him to the dropship even if the Pilot wasn't injured. He'd soon realize why as a pair of Titans had rushed to the scene to finish off the fleeing combatants. It was fortunate the armor and shielding technology of the I.M.C. was top of the line as the barrage of missiles and bullets would have ripped apart any other small vessel with ease. "We're taking off, hold on tight!" Yelled the Goblin's pilot as the dropship knocked its passengers to the floor with a tight turn. Seconds later they had made a jump into orbit and with a relieved sigh, the pilot began his course to the fleet.

"Good thing we were already enroute sir, that transmitter of yours was certainly a life saver." One of the grunts commented.

"Yeah," Alan lied, knowing it wasn't his that had been turned on, "It was." His former friend, always there to pick him up when things got too hot during battle, did so one last time to ensure his survival.

~ (-) ~

"So, he's gone too?" Vanessa said, taking a sip from her cup of coffee. It had been a few weeks since Alan had been left by himself. The Pilot hung his head low, "Hey at least you're alive and well, if Chris wasn't a friend then he would have let the Militia find and kill you so that counts for something right?"

"I suppose..." Alan said feeling a little better thanks to her talks and encouragements after every mission. Be it training or an actual battle she always was there when he returned. Roy would have loved to make a crack at him, calling the two 'A pair of reluctant birds' before laughing it off with a pat to the younger Pilot's back; especially when seeing the two of them alone together which only further added to the now painful memory.

Vanessa's fair skin and her white crew uniform was pure from the dirt, wear, and tear that Alan's armor had gone through. Sliding on the rough ground and being grazed in combination with constant deployment left more scars on it than it did its wearer, though he was grateful for it. Noticing this once more Alan asked remembering the words Chris said to him, "So why do you keep fighting for the I.M.C.? You're a talented officer-"

"Lieutenant," She interrupted, "I'm a Lieutenant. I don't do much else except manage my section and follow orders." There was a moment of silence, save Vanessa taking another sip of her drink with a slight smirk and the few personnel that wandered about the mess hall.

"As I was saying: what is it that keeps you here?"

"Well for one the pay is still good and two, _you_ are still on this little boat of ours." The black-haired woman said confidently knowing the man would move on from the dangerous line of talk. Since becoming the last of his squad, Alan didn't have much to do as the fleet had been far from any habitable planet save manufacturing centers to pick up Specters and equipment. He would have tried to join other Pilots in their little competitions a deck above them but found solace in quiet places better suited for him. "Come on, I'm already done with my shift and it looks like you need something to take your mind off things." The woman claimed, getting up and finishing the last of her drink.

"Sim pod?"

"Sim pod." She echoed.

After arriving at the nearly abandoned room, Alan took a seat in a vacant pod. The pod registered his certification and after a few buttons and switches being pressed and flipped the door closed off the light of the outside world and left the Pilot in darkness. Seconds later green lights came to life and scanned his person before immersing him into a small arena surrounded by rather high walls and a number of small buildings in the center. There wasn't much time to admire the scenery again as the robotic announcer spoke again.

"Initiating program: Wave Defense. Combatants must defeat five waves of enemy forces to achieve victory. Training begins in ten." It said, counting down as Alan prepared himself.

"Just before you go on a murdering spree or whatever," Said Vanessa's voice through the Pilot's earpiece, "I want to wish you good luck."

"Aye, aye Lieutenant, I won't let you down."

"Training begin, wave one. Six enemy squads remaining."

Half a dozen Crow dropships jumped right above the arena, their troops rappelling down to the sandy surface with their sole objective being cannon fodder. Alan, with his pistol in hand, sprinted toward the unfortunate four that were in front of him. With four shots, two of the grunts collapsed into the sand, disintegrating into digital bits. Another was swept to the ground by the Pilot's leg who stopped the last grunt from shooting him by using his arm to push the R-101's barrel away from him. With a clean shot to the head, Alan had stolen the rifle and finished off the downed grunt with a burst of ammo. It was only four grunts on the first wave, Alan still had a long way to go.

"Five enemy squads remaining." Said the pod's A.I. The Pilot reloaded the weapons and checked his map, running off into the direction of the nearest enemies.

~ (-) ~

"Zero enemy squads and Titans remaining. Well done. Preparing for wave five, four Titans incoming. Enemy Titan's shields are online." The last wave was always tricky for Pilots, he and other veterans had completed it a number of times but even then, a lucky shot would ruin their run. Alan took shelter in a building as the four pods dropped down from the sky like meteors. He could hear the mechanical joints and limbs move about, patrolling the area for any sign of him. He called his own Titan, hearing it on its way as the training titans open fire on the falling pod to no effect. He expected to hear his mech crash into the ground- hopefully destroying an enemy- but no noise came, he couldn't even move his body.

"Warning, emergency shut down initiated by senior officer. Ejecting pilot from simulation." Said the A.I. Feeling a little jittery from both the adrenaline and sudden ejection from the pod, Alan saw the doors open to the same room bathed in a flashing red light. Grunts and other crew were running to their stations while Vanessa reached in to help him out.

"Vanessa, what's going on?" He asked, rubbing his head to alleviate the light headache.

"We've entered Kraken's orbit, Naga's under siege by the Militia." She waved down a passing pair of grunts, "You two, get him to the hangar." She looked at a still slightly pained Alan, "Sorry, I have to get to my station. Remember that promise!" She yelled before running off like the others. He reached out for her but didn't even get to say a word before she was gone.

"Come on sir, she'll be here!" One of the grunts holding him up said.

Sprinting across the ship wasn't the greatest thing the group had done but they had made it just before the first dropship had departed. Pilots and grunts filled the drop pods and ships in a frenzy to find a way down on the moon's surface. If a trained commander or even soldier from the core worlds were to see them right now they would almost certainly be shocked at the chaos and disorganization. The sudden scramble to aid the I.M.C. garrison below didn't make much room for precious time to be used planning but once the armed forces rallied and linked together they were quite effective even on their own. Majority of the battles before Demeter when the Militia were on their last breath was a testament to that.

"Pilot, over here!" Waved a grunt catching Alan's attention. Without many other choices- seeing as by now most of the dropships had already left and the pods were disappearing one by one- he ran over to him and joined them in the drop pod. With all the seats filled the pod's door sealed shut and prepared for drop.

"Are you serious?" Shouted another grunt over the noise of comm chatter and the ship's weapon fire, "You actually got a Pilot to join us grunts by waving him down?" The two other grunts couldn't help but snicker and laugh at their comrade's disbelief.

"Don't worry about him sir, he's got little hope left!" The man that waved him down joked, "We still got that bet going!"

"You'll go broke after this mission!"

"Not after you pay me!" Slowly the pod's window showed the vacuum of space and the massive gas giant that watched over the battle and its moons.

"I'll join in." Alan said.

"No way, you'll clean us out 'till next year!" Said the second grunt.

"Then only a tenth of my kills will count!" The Pilot cheered.

"Then you're on!" The three grunts said in unison.

'It keeps them going.' He heard Iori's voice say.

"Oh, I hate this part!" He barely heard one of them say as pod kicked them out of the ship and sending them into a freefall.

"Separation confirmed." Said the feminine voice it was known for, a gentle sound when one may die only seconds after landing if unlucky enough. The pod shook violently as it gave view of the battle in orbit, the gas giant of Kraken watching over its little moons and the even smaller humans that fought for them. At the edge of the bottom of the window, the desert moon fast approached them. "Standby, approaching shock layer." The already cramped interior began to warm up a little as the heat from reentry did its best to incinerate them, thankfully the protective shielding prevented such horrific deaths. "Impact in three, two, one, mark." The impact into the ground stunned the four of them four a moment before the pod hissed open to hot, dry air and lots of sand and rock. Why anyone would want to live in such a place was unknown to Alan but that didn't matter, he had a job to do: Kill the Militia.

* * *

 **A.N.: Welcome to this new frontier of potential! There isn't much around yet but it will grow as these things tend to do. Why do I write for a relatively small series? Because it's fun. That and I just enjoy the universe that much.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	2. Chapter 02: Alone in the Sand

"Alone in the Sand"

This would be the first time venturing out without anyone beside him. Sure, he had plenty of grunts and Specters to count on but they just couldn't compete with another Pilot. They had landed right behind a major I.M.C. fortification that was all but surrounded by Militia forces to the east, fighters and flak peppered the air while the sound of guns and machines of war raged on, unwilling to give in to the enemy side for even a split second.

"Echo team, link up with the rest of the squad and await orders from command!" Ordered one of the grunts. The third had already begun his journey to find his own team while the other two awaited confirmation of their fellow teammates. "You best be going ahead of us sir, you'll be much more useful on the frontlines than waiting around here." He told Alan, "And don't forget our bet!" He called out as the Pilot began his sprint to the buildings and bunkers up ahead.

The sand beneath him wasn't the most stable to run on but mercy in the form of concrete buildings was just in front of him. Using his jump-kit, Alan ran across the edge of a bombed-out building, trusty pistol in hand, and leapt from one surface to the next as the sound of battle crept closer. The defensive turrets were on their last legs as being bombarded by heavy fire put several out of commission leaving only the brave defenders and a handful of Titans already there to hold out the terrorist horde. There was no doubt that a few of the Militia's troops have already breached into the interior to take control of the fortified position but the Pilot wouldn't allow them to have such a victory. He jumped through an already broken window on the second floor, slamming a Militia grunt into the floor before killing another with his weapon. Two other soldiers turned to react to the Pilot but each were met with three rounds to the torso. The grunt below him was granted a quick death with a bullet to the back of the head as Alan picked himself up. The man picked up an R-101 rifle and took a look at the outside world through a bullet hole. Green and orange clad Titans outnumbered the I.M.C.'s while Militia troops tried storming the bunkers with little success. Just as an enemy Atlas tore apart a turret it was hit by two cannon shells curtesy of a Paladin tank that had arrived as backup for friendly forces. It was by no means a fair fight but the tank crew did not back down from such a terrifying fight. The small tank would need to use the stone pillars as cover for any hopes of surviving.

Returning to his task at hand, Alan found a set of stairs and climbed them to the floor above. If the Militia was willing to sit around and guard the second story then there was no doubt that they were beating on the armored doors of the command room. As expected he found four Grunts trying to hack their way through but with a spray of his rifle Alan killed two. Charging the survivors, the Pilot pulled out his data knife and stabbed one through the heart while the other tackled Alan to avenge his friends. The two painfully skid down the stairs but the trained Pilot was the first to move, quickly unholstering his sidearm and pulling the trigger just below the other man's chin. Letting out a deep breath from the struggle, Alan turned his weapon to the door after hearing it open only to reveal the surviving mechanics and grunts inside.

"Pilot, get in here!" One of the grunts yelled, shutting the door behind them both once Alan collected his things. The room shook slightly as the battle raged on outside but in the center of the room was a holographic map of the surrounding area. From the looks of things reinforcements had already engaged the Militia and were holding them off if only barely.

"Make it quick, it's better for me to be out there." The Pilot stated.

"Of course, sir, the Militia is hitting us hard as you already know but they're coordinated in their attacks. Just recently our communications have been jammed and being trapped in here we couldn't send a message out to any other Pilots in the area."

"Get to the point."

"There's a Titan, on the hill just out of range of our scanners, calling in orders and surveying the battle."

"And you know this, how?"

"We've intercepted transmissions just before they went dark. That and anyone that tried to make a break for these grid coordinates," The grunt started, pointing to a lightly defended mid-section of the frontline, "Became primary targets for neighboring Militia Titans. We don't know if it'll bring communications back online but if nothing else it'll disorganize them enough to make a push. An explosion rocked the building this time, causing the lights and the map to flicker. "Dammit, this place isn't going to hold much longer, your best bet is going on foot and hide amongst the chaos. I know it's risky but every Titan that has tried, has failed." Another grunt slowly opened the door and checked the stairwell for hostiles. Alan left the fortified room just as the Sergeant spoke one more time, "We're counting on you Pilot, good luck!"

Sprinting down the stairs one more time, the Pilot halted once he got to last flight to the first floor. His quick eye caught the familiar sight of brown uniforms and the informal speech of Militia grunts. Reinforcements had apparently been called and the two squads down there were it. With his back against the concrete wall of the stairwell, Alan took a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin, counting to two before tossing it into the room below.

"Grenade!" Screamed a grunt before the explosive went off. There were still a few cries of agony as the shrapnel may have just missed the vital spots of the unlucky troopers still alive but the Pilot entered the room to silence them. He heard a quick moving pair of footsteps, too fast to be a regular grunt. He turned and with a hand pushing a pistol away from his head came face to face with a Militia Pilot. She kicked the man against the wall but before she could finish him off Alan grabbed her armed hand, breaking the gun free from her grasp before being put into a defensive stance. He went to punch her but his attack was easily thwarted and received an elbow to the chest, staggering him. Taking advantage of the situation the woman took her data knife and swiped at her opponent missing only by an inch. Once again Alan caught her arm and dislodged the knife from her hand but felt a hand grasp his collar while her legs wrapped around his waist. Using her weight to unbalance Alan, the Militia Pilot brought him down and the two were now rolling among the bullet casings and bodies that made movement painful and difficult at times, but his focus was on the elite soldier grappling with him. Unwilling to risk reaching for his gun, Alan instead pulled his own knife, its blade still harboring some blood from recent use. Pulling the girl to the floor and pushing himself up, the I.M.C. Pilot brought down the knife just over her chest before being stopped by her hands clamping tightly around his wrists. Both of them visibly trembled as survival was the reward for winning this fight and fear of death was starting to infect their minds. Centimeter by centimeter, the knife's point lowered ever so slowly.

"Wait, wait!" She pleaded in a quick succession, panic coming from her voice. Alan kept pushing down on the handle, "Stop, stop, listen to me-" The blade had pierced her uniform and flesh, sinking slowly through her heart.

"It'll be," Alan said pausing to put more weight behind the stab, "Over quickly I promise." The Pilot pulled his body back one more time before throwing all his weight and energy into the final stab, killing the Militia Pilot. Her grip on his wrists loosened and fell to the side while Alan sat back to catch his breath. He had been close to death a few times before but it was a feeling he, nor any other soul, would ever get used to.

Remembering his new objective, the Pilot rearmed himself and prepared for the hellish battlefield outside. He could still hear Titans kicking up sand and explosions that never seemed to end. The yells that he could hear blended together in a white noise that the man could tune out. He took a step forward but stopped as the leg of an Ogre Titan stomped in front of him, unleashing a hail of bullets on a nearby bunker. Outside he could see the faint dot of a Titan sitting on a sand dune doing nothing more than admiring the view. That was Alan's target. He took a leap of faith and ran out into the open, all but shielded from sight by the sand thrown up in the air by the battle, nature aiding in this cloud of stealth.

It took a few minutes- and bullets to take care of grunts that spotted him- to get to the furthest location any I.M.C. Titan had achieved before being brutally gunned down. With the man-made pillars serving as protection from both sight and danger, Alan made his way to the outskirts of the outpost. Armed with nothing more than a stolen R-101 and his old Hammond, the Pilot didn't fancy his chances on taking down a fully armed Titan but the countless hours he put into training against them would have to be enough for this fight. As he entered visible range of his target, Alan fiddled with his helmet's frequency, scanning for any Militia communications nearby but before he could finish a metal fist slammed into the concrete.

"That won't do you good here Pilot." Said the Militia Pilot over the Titan's intercom. Alan instinctively made the jump to another pillar and began weaving through them trying to keep his momentum with every jump. The war machine was a modified Atlas-class Titan having some sort of new antenna arrays, like a communications tower, wielding a 40mm Cannon but it was covered with a custom reddish paint in place of the traditional orange stripes. Alan could hear the whizz of the shells rushing behind him until finally he managed to dodge a hand and climb aboard the mechanical beast. Just as he pulled its hatch the Titan threw itself into a pillar, forcing the rodeoing Pilot to scramble to its front in view of its cameras. Without hesitation, Alan managed to shoot out two of them but jumped off when he saw its arm try to splatter him against its own hull. The cycle continued with the Pilot weaving between the pillars for cover and momentum. "Is that it corporate hound? I though you all were supposed to be better!" The Militia Pilot mocked while unleashing a hail of missiles that hit either the concrete that Alan was behind or wildly went off in the air. The Titan was taking enough damage thanks to its user's own carelessness but that was not a reason to get comfy. Alan once more climbed on its roof and emptied his rifle into the interior systems causing massive amounts of damage in the process. On fire and with plenty of armor now missing, Alan knew the Titan was on its last legs and soon enough its own Pilot abandon it to its fate. The machine fell into the sand with the I.M.C. Pilot on top of its wreck. Alan went to fire his rifle once more but found it out of ammo, tossing it to the side in favor of his pistol. Hopping down from the burnt wreckage the terrorist met Alan in hand to hand seeing as he was without a firearm. "You've got some luck with you I'll give you that." He complimented, "But that runs out today." Alan went to jump away but the other man grabbed his foot and pulled him back down to the sand. He saw the Militia Pilot jump into the air to crush him beneath his boots but Alan rolled to the side and picked himself up, bits of sand falling off his uniform as the two now stared each other down. Going on the offensive first, Alan gave a number of punches not expected them to be blocked but just enough to push back his opponent to one of the pillars. With a punch to the stomach, the Militia Pilot fell a few steps back into the pillar. Alan was about to knee the man in the face but he dodged and the force of his strike went straight into concrete. Thank the equipment producers for kneepads. A knife just barely cut through Alan's upper arm but the adrenaline kept the pain from taking hold for now. The enemy Pilot went for another stab but had his arm twisted and broken at the elbow. Alan picked up the other fighter's knife and after two cuts to the torso he stabbed the Militia man at the shoulder joint of his other arm; taking his own knife in hand he then ducked under the other Pilot's arms and sliced through his foe's leg only to stab him in the back. With two knives now in his back, the enemy Pilot fell to his knees, "Good fight Pilot." He panted before Alan finished him off with a bullet from his Hammond to the back of the head. The victor fell back to catch his breath once again only this time the hot sand proved more comfortable than the bodies and casings back in the outpost. Watching the battle continue to play out Alan heard the dead Pilot's comm come to life.

"Eagle Eye what do we do? Repeat, what are out orders?" He could hear the Militia yell from the other side of the line. Slowly the I.M.C. were turning the tide as the cohesion among the Militia soon vanished, panicked grunts were the first to break while green and orange Titans were starting to be overwhelmed with gunfire by the combined efforts of both Titans, Grunts, and the occasional strafe from a Phantom fighter. It was a beautiful sight even if this place was such a plain and bland desert. "I heard Eagle Eye go down. We have to pull back!"

"All I.M.C. forces, drive these terrorists back to their caves!" He heard the voice of the Sergeant from earlier. Alan watched a few Militia ships in atmosphere crash somewhere out in the dunes as the I.M.C. for the first time in what felt like months, achieved a victory, but the war was indeed not over yet. "Still alive Pilot?" He heard over the radio.

"Yeah," He said, lying back to view the fading blue sky above, "I'm still here."

"He lives! Good on ya' Pilot, thank you for the assist, we probably wouldn't have lasted much longer with that level of coordination. Whoever runs their electronic warfare is good. Anyways come on home Pilot."

Alan picked himself up from the sand, turning to look at the body left behind. He took and cleaned his knife off and began the walk back to the outpost, "Of course." The man acknowledged, "I still have a promise to keep."

* * *

 **A.N.: Here's chapter 2 for you, nothing else to report. Except that I couldn't restrain myself from posting it this early in the day.  
**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	3. Chapter 03: Rec Room Memories

"Rec Room Memories"

Alan gripped his wounded arm as the dropship, full of wounded grunts and other Pilots, made a gentle landing back at its home carrier. The second the doors opened up medical teams swarmed and took over operations, rushing the critically injured away to the sick bay. Not many acknowledged the man's achievements, nor did he expect any cheer as there had been a dozen or so skirmishes taking place across the moon's surface at the time. The Pilot's victory was insignificant compared to the fleet which had crippled the Militia's own. It may have been one fleet out of untold how many but it showed the Militia, and more importantly the I.M.C., that they were still a force to be reckon with. It didn't take long for Alan's eyes to fall upon a particular crew member whom had been waiting for him.

"Welcome back," Vanessa called with a hand over her heart, "I saw all of the wounded and couldn't find you thinking-" She stopped herself, fixing her uniform and posture before taking a deep breath, "A Titan? Alone? You could have died!" She exclaimed, showing her annoyance for the man who put himself at risk by pushing her finger to his chest. Pulling off his helmet Alan's light skin was covered in sweat and a bit of soot while grains of sand stuck to his dark-brown mess of hair making it look just a shade lighter. The woman ran her fingers through his hair trying to comb out the sand but eventually gave up.

"But I didn't." He replied with a cheeky smile. The smile quickly faded as he asked how she got the information, "Wait, how did you know that from up here?"

"Word of mouth spreads fast on the ship, and do you really believe I wouldn't at least keep an ear out on your whereabouts?" She said, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one side, "I swear that helmet is cutting off blood to your head, then you really _will_ die."

"Right well shall we grab a-" Alan started before being cut off by the crew woman's finger shaking side to side.

"MmMmm," She denied, "First you shower, then we'll talk. Make it quick too because command says able personnel are to be ready for combat in three standard hours, 'just in case'."

Nodding in confirmation, the man set off for his quarters to do as asked but it wasn't long before he met a familiar trio of grunts. One had a bandaged forehead, the second an arm in a sling, and the third standing on one leg being held up by the first, a makeshift splint and bandages wrapped around the injured leg.

"Oi', why is it that Pilots either come back nearly dead or untouched?" The first asked, looking at Alan before setting his friend down on a crate.

"Well I suppose it's a little bit of training and a whole lot of luck." Alan replied to the man who chuckled.

"Right well anyways, kill count, go."

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two!" He exclaimed in shock, "No I think you mean 'two'." He remembered, " And I don't round numbers you know!"

"Better than mine," The second grunt let out, "Couldn't get anything done with a wall of Titans in the way. And the arm."

"I've got three when those terrorists tried storming the bunkers, they're suicidal I tell ya'." The first soldier claimed, "And Scott here only got one less."

"Forget about kills." The third grunt said.

"Not when I've won!" The first defied.

"Yeah, but did you see that Paladin crew?" The second-place grunt asked, "They must have had some pair to take on a Titan, a _bloody Titan_. Came out on top too."

"And now we won't hear the end of it from them for a few weeks." The second grunt said with a shake of his head.

"I'd love to sit and chat, but I've got to get going." Alan explained.

"That's alright, don't keep her waiting," The bet winner said with a wink, "But I'm still expecting that payment! We'll likely be in the upstairs rec room."

After a brief farewell, the Pilot left the grunts to chat amongst themselves. There wasn't much time to wash up and keep his word as ordered but Alan wouldn't let that fact deter him.

~ (-) ~

It didn't take long to clean off the scent of war, the uniform had been thrown in a wash while a replacement took its place and the smell of gunpowder and blood was all but gone from the elite soldier. After making a quick stop by the infirmary to get a small bandage for his arm, Alan returned to the mess hall where Vanessa once again had herself a drink, this time it looked to be only hot tea. "No coffee this time?"

"Machine broke during the battle." She said, thumbing toward where it used to be to show a grunt slam his fist on a table and fall to his knees. To him it was probably the greatest casualty of war so far, and there were plenty of others that held the same view. "This is why I've always brought my own box of stuff in situations like these."

"Right," Alan acknowledged looking back at the woman, "So no damage at all?"

"Nothing a few days of constant repair can't fix, plus it's a pretty well armed and armored vessel so taking her down will be tough enough as it is. Then there are the escort ships flying along with us to make things even harder for the Militia." She took a sip of her self-made beverage, "Aside from a few injuries nothing really happened, but enough about the ship. What you do this time?"

"The usual."

"You know what I mean." She stated firmly, "The Titan, the blacked-out comms, all of that. What happened down there?"

"Well after landing and taking care of a few individuals I was tasked by the remains of ground control to take out a particular Titan. From what I can tell, he was watching over the battle making sure things went smoothly; that and he was the source of the signal jamming."

"And then you showed up."

"Kind of, he found me first actually."

"And then?"

"Well after having to dodge 40mm shells and missiles," He started with a look of disapproval from Vanessa, "I managed to take down the Titan and one quick hand to hand fight later I ended up killing its Pilot."

"That all seems kind of bland."

"Well I left out the parts you probably wouldn't like to hear."

"Fair enough, still, you could have called in your Titan. You could've mopped the floor with 'em." She proclaimed, taking a sip of her tea.

"Well I didn't want to attract a bunch of other Militia to me and Titans have become a little harder to repair with the lack of the constant influx of supplies. I don't want my Titan on the field unless absolutely necessary."

"You could have died, I'm pretty sure that qualifies as 'necessary'."

"But I didn't." He said again with the same grin. "Either way it's over now. Speaking of which, you're somewhat in touch with command, what is the fleet going to do next?"

"I'm not so sure myself, I know we'll be lingering for a while to push the rest of the Militia off the moon but after that is anyone's guess." Vanessa replied. The band of pirates, terrorists, and outlaws may have caught the I.M.C. by surprise here but that didn't let them take over the moon. The Militia probably pride themselves in having conquered a fifth of Naga which bothered the Pilot to no end. Constantly considering themselves 'the good guys' while simultaneously conscripting murderers, slavers, outright criminals and bringing destruction to every world the I.M.C. was on to 'liberate' it even if the populace didn't want it. "Hey." Vanessa said with a snap of her fingers, "You're thinking about it again. I still need you here you know and so does everyone else. Can't have you getting blinded on the battlefield."

"Thanks." Alan said snapping back to reality.

"Well it's time for me to get back on my shift but before I go, try not to dwell too much on the past." She said. Finishing her drink, the woman stood up only to sit back down on the table and lean closer to the Pilot, "I'll forgive you for nearly killing yourself this time," Vanessa lightly flicked Alan's forehead as a kind of punishment for his recklessness, "But that doesn't mean I'm allowing you to do that again alright?"

"No promises but I'll do my best."

"I know you will." She said, leaving the table to get to her post. Alan's eyes couldn't help but watch her until she disappeared around the corner. He felt a little guilty after that, risking his life to fulfill some vendetta while she no doubt always waited anxiously, worried that he might just not come back one day. Alan shook his head to get the thought out of his mind, telling himself that he would never break her heart and come home in a body bag or worse. Standing himself up, the Pilot decided to head upstairs to meet the other ground troops; it was something he hadn't done since Vincent, Riggs as everyone called him, decided to turncoat. The chances of him going only lowered as later Iori and now Chris had left to join the enemy. Regardless he had a bet to settle so it was as good an excuse as any other.

~ (-) ~

Upon entering the entrance door, Alan scanned the room of chaos and sorrow. Some grunts and Pilots doing simple things like playing cards or just having a chat while others sat at the bar without an ounce of strength left in them. He was about to back out but was caught by a woman shouting his nickname, "Oi look who we have here, it's the Cosmonaut!" Katherine Waller, the 'Fox of the Yuma System' or just 'Fox' as she came to be known as. Rumor had it that she was trapped on Harmony when the Militia took it over and using her charms and cunning to survive, eventually she managed to 'persuade' a Militia dropship pilot to loan her a ship. The fleet almost shot her down if Alan remembered correctly, fortunately she wasn't the only I.M.C. personnel onboard and together with a few other survivors they quickly identified who they were to the rest of the fleet. "I never would have thought you'd come back here after all this time."

"I'm just here for a bet."

"Aren't we all, Stassov?" She said in agreement, resting her arm on his shoulder even if it was a bit of a stretch for the shorter girl. Katherine brushed her short, chestnut colored hair behind one ear, showing off her soft, fair skin and hid her blue eyes with a satisfied smirk. "What kind of bet would you make I wonder." She pondered, nudging him with her hips before snapping her fingers and turning to point at him. "It's-"

"Kills." He finished, receiving a disappointed look from her.

"Well you're no fun then," She pouted with arms crossed across her chest, "Guess I'll just have to work up the courage and pick away at that wall." Someone else was going to talk to Alan but backed off with hands raised after having received a curious, at least to Alan, territorial growl from Katherine telling him to wait his turn.

"What does that even mean?"

"Nothing. Anyways who'd you lose to, Isaac? Anthony? Sasha? I hear she's a demon- demoness? - with a DMR."

"It was uh, a trio of grunts." The room went silent after hearing that. Alan gulped at the sudden attention he was getting, and he already knew they probably wouldn't let him live it down. The woman in front of Alan pinched herself with her two of her nails, wincing at the pain after realizing she wasn't dreaming.

"Could you repeat that?"

"I lost a bet," Alan repeated begrudgingly, "to a grunt." Still silence filled the air before the voice of said grunt broke it.

"Yeah and I'm still waiting on those credits!" Said the man with a drink raised in the air. The crowd gave a friendly laugh or chuckle before returning to what they were doing, it wasn't as bad as Alan thought but that didn't mean the embarrassment didn't get to him. Meanwhile Katherine couldn't help but laugh at the poor Pilot's predicament.

"Really?" She laughed, "How could you lose a kill count bet to anyone but another Pilot?"

"You know I'm still over here!" The grunt said over the crowd.

"You know what I mean!" Katherine barked back. "Anyways what happened, get knocked out and have him defend your poor, defenseless soul?" She said with an exaggerated hand to her forehead as if to faint.

"Well every ten of my kills only counted as one. I had twenty-two so I ended up with two." The dark-brunette man explained.

"Twenty-two in one mission? I suppose that isn't too bad." She complimented, eyeing him up and down, "Unless they were all Pilots. Enough of us standing around, let's grab a seat." The woman suggested, pulling up a stool at the bar for herself while Alan took the one next to her.

"Well two of them were Pilots, the others were just regular terrorists." Alan informed. The chestnut-haired girl called for a light drink while Alan himself just ordered a water which earned him an eyeroll from Katherine. "And a Titan with only a rifle and pistol." He muttered before taking a drink from his glass. This caused Katherine to choke on her own drink, beating her chest between coughs to get the liquid out from the wrong pipe. "You what!" She screamed. Somewhere behind them a glass dropped on the floor but as luck would have it, it didn't crack or shatter.

"For Christ's stop dropping the glass, they're _glass_ dammit!" The bartender yelled at the patrons, whom all returned to their activities shortly after. Katherine returned her attention on the man next to her, this time in a quieter tone.

"You what?" She repeated, hand clenching her glass, "That's nearly suicide."

"He was careless. I thought you would have already known about it by now." Alan said, remembering the old saying of how fast word can spread on the ship.

"Well yeah," She stammered, "I just figured you did so using your Titan."

"Too risky, probably would have killed me actually. They seemed really keen on defending whoever it was I killed and bringing in a Titan would have made me a priority target."

"Still that's a bit dangerous don't you think?"

"You wouldn't be the only one who thought that." Alan sighed, "What, would you miss me if I died?"

"Well," Katherine paused, eyes darting away to hide her face, "I don't like seeing a squad wipe like Demeter or the Bone Yard massacre. Especially with yo- you're squad I mean." he could hear a few of her squadmates mutter behind them but couldn't make out the words. She took a long look at the ice in her drink, watching it drift in the alcoholic beverage as if it would comfort her; meanwhile she had a noticeable drop from her usual energetic personality and in its stead was a quiet whimper in her voice.

"Hey, I survived the Bone Yard." Alan reassured with a pat on the back trying to pick her up out of the hole she fell it.

"No one else did." She said coldly. She kept a moment of silence before making her point, "You even came back battered, covered in blood, and collapsed as soon as the dropship doors opened." The life in her eyes drained worryingly. A chill ran down Alan's spine as she said that and he would've guessed the same for the others that overheard. He didn't know what else to say without potentially making things worse. He also remembered that day well for it was a memory- a nightmare- that was burned in his memory. The flying beasts that preyed on both sides which Alan had made a priority to kill them if not grant the grunt a painless death. The Pilot's hand trembled as he remembered the screams of men burning and being electrocuted alive all by the hands of a sadistic Militia man known at the time only by 'The Boneyard Reaper'; the Pilot- no the _Pirate_ now known to be someone by the name of Mannes Breukers- took pleasure in using his Arc Cannon to fry I.M.C. by the dozens. Alan could have sworn a grunt still alive at the time told him how the man even killed his own men if they disobeyed orders or tried to retreat. Louder and louder he heard the pleas for help as he could do nothing as the other Pilots tried to reach out for his hand but he could not save them or even grunts, a few of which going so far as to be crushed between the metal fingers of the Pirate's Titan which started to make Alan feel sick. After managing to crawl aboard the evac ship a wounded Alan had ordered the Goblin ship's pilot to take off immediately, knowing in full certainty that there wasn't a single I.M.C. soul left aside from him. It couldn't even be called a battle, it was slaughter.

Swallowing his fear, Alan's eyes looked around the place, calming him with the sight of friendly grunts, Pilots and the familial bond they all shared as comrades in arms. "Things will get better Kath," He tried to reassure again, this time gently shaking her shoulder, trying to snap her out the depressive state before things got worse. "If he ever shows up again I _will_ kill him, that's a promise." She said nothing back, only looking him in the eye with a tiny glint that was probably hope.

* * *

 **A.N.: These are starting to get longer and are being written more frequently much to my own surprise. Just finished this one up the day after chapter 02 was uploaded. Still though, I don't think it would be wise to put them out back to back, unless I have loads of queued chapters ready, which I don't have so at least a day in between them will do just fine.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	4. Chapter 04: Unfortunate Fate

"Unfortunate Fate"

"The Militia believe they can steal every place they set foot on, clearly they were wrong." A grunt Captain said walking toward the Goblin's rear exit. "Command wants us to secure this water treatment plant before those terrorists can get it back online, we don't know if there are any survivors so if you come across one help them if you can." The door hissed open with a pull of a lever and the wind blew in the face of the troops aboard, "Remember, you're protecting the billions of lives in the core worlds, _and_ you're getting paid to do it!" He shouted, waving for them to exit the ship in a quick fashion. "Alpha team on me, Pilot, do what you do best!"

Alan hopped down from the transport that hovered a few meters in the air, instinctively using his jump-kit to soften his fall while the grunts behind him slid down ziplines. It was somewhat of an open area, the towering water pump in the center surrounded by the facility's buildings was the only oddity but from the looks of it, there wasn't a single Titan in sight to defend the place. Probably a drawback from deploying them as a mass assault only to fail and take considerable losses and damage leaving the I.M.C. in an advantageous position. Beside them, along the same western end of the facility, three other Goblin's deployed their grunts each supported by a single Pilot. A diversion on a refinery that was miles away got the attention of the Militia as both fleets needed the crucial fuel supplies but funnily enough it was the water that was considered the main target according to their Vice Admiral. Already the I.M.C. fleet wasn't in the greatest of shapes when it came to water reserves but on a string of arid and desert moons around Kraken, water became a valuable commodity. If they could secure it and cut off the Militia from the largest natural source of water then they would leave them with no choice but to either flee to another system or call in for deliveries; it was a win-win for the I.M.C. either way as they either took over the abandon moons or simply raided the Militia's cargo ships for supplies.

Alone, Alan breached the entrance of one of the buildings, using his Hammond to check corners. It was a different feeling, taking it slow and not use speed to his advantage which is what made a Pilot... well a Pilot, besides being a trained death machine. The man picked up the faint voices of Militia grunts, pushing his back against a wall. "Command," he whispered, "Are the ears still deaf?"

"Negative Pilot, we could only manage to hide the dropships from radar. Do not let the enemy sound off the alarm, repeat do not let the enemy sound off the alarm. Keep radio chatter to a minimum." He heard from his radio. He cut the connection and returned to his task at hand. Stealth mission it would seem. Holstering his pistol, Alan unsheathed his knife and stalked the two grunts making their patrol.

"So, you're telling me a small tank took out a Titan, with its Pilot inside?" The first asked his friend.

"It was already heavily damaged by the turrets anyways, the damn I.M.C. just got a lucky shot." The second said with venom in his voice. Alan quietly approached the second one, fingers itching to grab hold of his head. "I bet, they're always taking the cheap shots," He started as Alan grabbed the second grunt's mouth and head, twisting it in a rapid movement until a snap was heard from the neck, "So how's-?" The first grunt was about to ask as he turned to see his friend's body fall to the ground with Alan behind him. Before he could raise his weapon in terror, Alan knocked it out of his hands and stabbed him in the chest, holding a hand to his mouth so he wouldn't let out a loud enough scream. Waiting until there were no signs of life, Alan dragged the bodies of to the side just out of clear sight but they would inevitably be found if someone were to take a closer look.

"Southern facility being secured," Alan said as he stabbed his data-knife in a console port, "Cleaning up leftovers."

"Carter, Daniels, you're late to the table again-" A grunt said coming to check up on his now dead guard mates only to find Alan at the console, "Enemy Pil-" He tried to shout before three bullets went through him.

"Aw hell." Alan cursed before preparing for possible enemies. A five grunts came rushing down two separate flights of stairs, three down one, two on down the other. Kicking up the good ole' R-101C rifle from the floor, Alan gunned down two of the three, pulling out his pistol once again to shoot the two on the other side. The last grunt, taken back by the quick efficiency of the Pilot, froze in fear before Alan threw his pistol at him and sprinted toward the grunt. The I.M.C. Pilot swept his legs from under him and punched his throat, incapacitating the Militia man who desperately grabbed at his own neck. Alan picked up his weapon, inspecting it for any actual damage before granting the downed man a quick death. That should be all of them but the Pilot knew better than to make assumptions on the battlefield. Picking another rifle to replace his nearly depleted one, the man rushed to pick up his knife after it had done its job before heading upstairs. Sure enough, he narrowly walked right into a hail of gunfire but was defended by the concrete wall he hid behind. They suppressed him, keeping him from even moving up or taking a peek so in return the Pilot blind fired his weapon to break the stalemate which sounded like it worked. Still firing in bursts at nothing in particular, Alan jumped to the wall and ran across it hopping down in a slide. With the last of the rifle's ammo he managed to kill two of them, leaving another to be killed by his pistol and the final Militia defender to be stabbed in the neck. With knife still impaled in the other man's neck, Alan yanked it out and stood himself up straight taking in the sight of blood and all the other carnage caused by firearms. "This is Stassov, facility clean. Repeat, facility clean."

"Affirmative Pilot, await further orders." Command told him. Now the waiting game started, at least it should have.

"This if Foxtrot, we've encountered two enemy Pilots and our Pilot is down, eastern facili- gah!" He heard over the radio. Trouble was ahead and now they no doubt knew they were at the facility. Alan ran out the exit and toward the last known location of Foxtrot team. Apparently, he wasn't the only one as a fellow Pilot from the northern facility had joined him in aiding whoever was left. Both of them would have to enter from either side of the facility and flank the Militia Pilots and hopefully they would get there in time to save those grunts but such a chance was slim at best.

Entering the building Alan could already see a number of Militia troops dead thanks to the Pilot that was with the strike team but there were a few I.M.C. ones too that worried the Pilot. Carefully searching every place for any sign of the enemy, Alan could find nothing in the darkened facility. Were it not for the windows and emergency lights it would have been pitch black; that was probably what got the team killed in the first place. Which could only mean the enemy was using-

His thought was interrupted as he saw a faint shimmer to his left. A cloaked Pilot. The figure pounced at Alan with a knife in hand but he managed to dodge the stab, grabbing the enemy's would-be wrist and was about to pull his Hammond to his stomach but was blocked by a hand that disarmed him. Soon after the cloak dissipated to reveal a male Pilot, his green uniform having trickles of another victims' blood on it. Whoever he was, he was good with a knife as the blade quickly turned to stab Alan through the helmet only to graze the side of it. Backing off, the two Pilots circled one another waiting for the next move. The Militia man went first, starting with swift stabs that would have killed Alan had he not blocked his opponent's movements with his hands and threw the attacks to the side. Alan threw a few punches to some effect however the enemy Pilot was still on his feet and taking a swipe at the man whenever possible. The I.M.C. Pilot spun and elbowed the Militia Pilot twice in the ribs and once on the neck with his forearm and still he persisted. The Militia kicked Alan to the ground with a well-placed kick to the chest. Falling next to his gun, Alan scrambled to grab it and took aim at the fleeing Militia managing to get a few shots off, one of which was successful, before he disappeared behind a corner. "Ugh, coward." Alan said to himself. It was only after he felt the ground quake did he realize why the man had run away.

"Enemy Titan on the field! Another hostile Titanfall incoming!" Shouted a grunt through the comms. Alan brought himself to his feet and sprinted down the way he came, scaling the building to get on the roof for a better view once he made it outside into the sunset-lit facility. Now two Titans were fully up and operational, one Stryder with a Quad Rocket Launcher and an Ogre wielding an XO-16 chaingun. Fortunately, I.M.C. forces were safe and secured in the buildings but that could be changed with the constant fire from the Titans picking away at the walls. Rockets from the ground forces and a Sidewinder from a Pilot opened up on one of the Titans but some of the damage was deflected and shot back with the Stryder's vortex shield. Wasting no more time, Alan jumped from the roof onto the Ogre's back, pulling its hatch off just as he'd been trained. The Titan's companion had taken notice, turning to help its friend while the ground troops still fired at its back. The Pilot knew he couldn't risk getting in front of the Ogre without being torn to shreds by that chaingun so the best he could do was repeat the moves he did on the Atlas Titan from his last battle. Just before a fist slammed into him, Alan flipped to the Ogre's front, leaving the Stryder to punch its friend while Alan waited for the Stryder to dash around to kill him. Two screeching pods fell from sky, only this time they were I.M.C. Titans; another Ogre and an Atlas. The Militia Titans made the hard choice of focusing on the more dangerous targets. The smaller one using its speed to circle the Atlas while the two Ogres tanked each other's weapons. With a big punch from the Ogre that crumpled the hatch of the Militia's Titan, and thanks to Alan shooting its internals after climbing back behind it, the Militia Titan was in far worse shape but on the other side of the fight, the Atlas was not having much success against the skilled Stryder Pilot. Alan pointed for his comrade to aid their injured friend whom was about to be ripped out and crushed. The friendly Ogre complied and intercepted the Stryder, tearing off its arm before it could squeeze its hand and kill the friendly Pilot. Alan, thinking fast, primed and lodged his two grenades in the right shoulder of the Ogre. He once again slid to the Titan's front and kicked off its face as the grenades blew off its chaingun carrying arm. The Titan, dropping to its knees, held itself up with its other arm just long enough so its Pilot could escape the doomed machine. Still bleeding from the bullet wound, the Militia Pilot stumbled to his feet to face Alan as his Titan finally collapsed in the cooling sand. The wounded man pushed aside Alan's pistol, throwing it in the sand as he tackled him to the ground, a move the I.M.C. Pilot was all too familiar with. The two wrestled as the Militia soldier pulled his knife almost stabbing Alan in the side until he was stopped by said Pilot. Alan's enemy went for one more stab but had his arm grabbed and boot planted into his chest that knocked him back a few feet. In the distance there was a sound of crushing metal as the friendly Ogre knocked down the Stryder and crushed its torso with its 40mm cannon, firing twice for good measure which caused the smaller mech to outright explode in a small puff of fire. The Militia man tore off his helmet and fell to his knees as he saw his comrade killed. The timing couldn't have been any better as the sun had finally drowned beyond the horizon giving rise to the night stars that shined above and were aided by the gas giant that lit up the moon with its reflected light

"Carla!" He yelled, a tear now running down his eye and an arm outstretched. Visibly gritting his teeth, the Militia Pilot got to his feet and spun for another stab at Alan who caught his arm and stole his knife. The I.M.C. Pilot turned the blade and went to stab the other man but the blade only impaled his left hand. Alan took his own knife in his other hand and went for another jab at his foe but had his own arm caught before it could inflict any injuries. The pained man went to push Alan back but was met with planted feat of the Pilot. In one final effort, Alan let go of the knife in his right hand, putting it under his left to receive the knife it would drop, made three slices across the Militia's torso before ending it with a stab the side of the man's head. Alan then brought down the body to its side, pulling out his knife and picking up his pistol.

"We have another hostile Titanfall incoming!" He heard a grunt shout over his radio. Looking to the sky Alan saw an Atlas pop from its pod and fall to the ground. Immediately it unleashed a hail of missiles and bullets at the friendly Ogre Titan, destroying it but not before the Pilot could eject just in time. The mech was familiar to Alan, the loadout, the insignia, even the way it moved.

"Damn my luck..." A familiar voice came from the Titan trying to kill him. Alan had kept evading and using his kit to jump off the pump in the middle and onto the Atlas. Soon after climbing on top of the Titan electric smoke popped, forcing the Pilot to abandon his chance at rodeoing the Titan and he instead fell to the ground, boots skidding across the sand until he came to a halt. The new Atlas slowly walked out of the electrifying smoke, looking down at the Pilot that was meters in front of it but refusing to fire on him for now. The Titan's hatch opened up and its Pilot stepped out to meet Alan face to face. "Out of every single person in the entire Frontier," He started, pointing to Alan with an angry tone, "Why did it have to be _you_?"

"Chris." Alan greeted.

"Alan." Chris replied. The I.M.C. Pilot faced one of the people he hoped to never see again and now, fate brought them together once more. Silently Alan made a call to the fleet in orbit.

"Command authenticated, stand by for Titanfall."

* * *

 **A.N.: It's a bit shorter than 03 but it's satisfactory. Slightly quicker schedule, about two days in between chapters except weekends.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	5. Chapter 05: The First Reunion

"The First Reunion"

"Still fighting for a paycheck then?" Chris asked. Taking a glance at the surviving Pilots off to the side.

"You know I never have." Alan replied, taking a few steps back. "I'm fighting for what's right, and I'm fighting for justice." Chris's eyes narrowed under his helmet, his sympathetic expression turning sour.

"Oh, just for that." He said as he pulled his autopistol in displeasure. Just as he pulled the trigger, Alan's Titan filled the space between them, its protective shield absorbing the miniscule damage it dealt while its Pilot slid between its legs only to be caught by a hand and placed inside. The old Stryder was armed with a 40mm canon and had taken a place in Alan's heart, much like a trophy one would want to keep shiny and in mint condition. She had saved his skin a number of times in the past during the battles the man and machine fought together in.

"Welcome back Pilot, it has been a while." The OS said with a feminine Russian accent, a custom feature Alan had added a while back leading to him referring to the Titan as 'Anya', in homage to the accent's origin. "I see our enemy is a friend."

"Was." Alan corrected, receiving an 'affirmative' from his Stryder.

"'Justice'?" Chris repeated, falling back into his own Titan. "What the hell are you talking about? Have you not seen what the I.M.C. have done to the Frontier?" He yelled, waiting for Alan to leave the safety of his dome shield. "I gave up on them not long after they abandoned our men, abandoned Roy, on Demeter! You should've too." Alan remained silent, dashing out of his bubble and firing on the Atlas. Both Titans used the water pump as cover, knowing full well neither would risk damaging it. Using his superior speed, Alan dashed to meet the full force of Chris's chaingun, its bullets being caught by the Stryder's vortex shield and shot back. The Atlas went for a punch but the agile Stryder simply dodged it and punched its back. Once again, the two circled the pump only this time a cluster missile blocked Alan's back, taking out the Stryder's shields.

"Warning, recommend regen." Anya warned. Going to the other side, Alan was attempting to flank the Atlas but found himself standing in front of a Particle Wall with the chaingun holding him at bay. The Stryder dashed forward and the two Titans fists met but being the lighter of the two, Alan's Titan was the one to be pushed back, taking more fire than he'd like. Back behind the water pump, the I.M.C. Pilot waited for his shields to recharge, listening for the sound of explosions to stop and the Atlas to make a move.

"Come on, don't make this any harder for me than it already is." Chris pleaded, turning the corner to fire at Alan. The Stryder Pilot couldn't do anything except tank the damage as much as he could before unleashing a bust of rockets at the heavier mech and give it another punch. Another cluster missile and a hail of bullets, this time all of it was caught by the vortex shield and shoved at Chris's Titan. "Would've been better had I fought you on the ground." He muttered, "Never could figure out how you managed to fight in that paper-thin Titan." The two Titans circled to the opposite side of the pump, a Particle Wall between them, only this Alan caught the Atlas's hand and used its momentum to pull it to the other side, and swap places with the Stryder. A few cannon shells later the Atlas started to show signs of weakness trying to reclaim its side of the wall. "Why?" Chris yelled, "Why fight the Militia, and all the good they stand for huh?" The Atlas retreated behind the pump again, "You hear me Alan? You're awfully quiet."

"Yeah, I read you." The man acknowledged.

"Then tell me, what have the Militia ever done to you to warrant this hatred?" Chris asked. The words sunk their teeth deep into Alan, bringing up devastating memories of the past. They may have been old scars in his head but that didn't stop them from hurting any less; and only one other person on the Frontier knew by how much.

The Atlas dashed around and threw a punch at the Stryder but in his anger Alan had caught the metal fist, tearing it off with a kick to the Atlas's torso. Alan approached the damaged Titan, firing his cannon all while Chris could do nothing more that absorb the damage until it finally fell with its back landing on the northern facility. Finally, the Stryder swatted aside an outstretched arm instead grabbing the Atlas's hatch and tore it off too revealing a bloody and injured Pilot with a crack on his visor. Chris held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright lights shining down from the top of the water pump. Anya's hatch opened up and Alan stepped down onto the Atlas's blackened torso to face the turncoat Pilot.

"Why?" Chris coughed out. With his good arm he removed his helmet, and bits of glass from his broken visor had dug into the man's tanned flesh. His blonde hair had been matted with sweat and blood fell from his forehead and the edge of his lip while his eye was kept shut out of reflex to keep the blood from getting in. It wasn't long after that Alan had taken off his helmet too to look down on his former friend that was in a sorrowful state with his own eyes. "What did the Militia do to you, Alan?" He asked again, "I at least," He coughed up blood, "Want to know."

"There's a reason we called the Militia 'terrorists'. Hiding among the common citizens, raiding worlds that dared support the I.M.C., going so far as to bombing civilian population centers in the core worlds. _Civilians_ Chris." Alan started, "I will only say that, that last one changed my life." He finished, hesitantly unholstering his Hammond to take aim at Chris.

"I see," Chris said, "If that's true then there is no good side to this war." Noticing the gun, Chris looked up to Alan, "You won't do it. I know you won't kill a friend." He claimed.

Clenching his fist and teeth, Alan took a deep breath. The man wasn't sure if he could pull the trigger. The Pilot thought more about it, opening his eyes when his mind came to a final decision. "You're right," Alan agreed, looking at Chris with a pained expression, "I wouldn't." Alan pulled the trigger, the impact of the bullet killing and kicking Chris's head back. Alan took a long, hard look at Chris's body, lowering his pistol and recounting what he had just done. The long silence was only interrupted by Anya.

"I am sorry for your loss Pilot." The Stryder Titan said, trying to comfort its user as much as a machine could.

"Don't be," Alan reassured, "He..." He paused, thinking about what he should say, "He made his choice. I simply tried to warn him." Taking another deep breath, the Pilot put away his gun. Stepping down from the Atlas, only to look back at its frame one last time. "Command, the facility has been taken, operation was a success." He heard someone report from his helmet radio.

"Affirmative, sending in reinforcements for deployment and pickup. Come on home."

~ (-) ~

After returning to the fleet along with his Titan, Alan stepped off the dropship after the two surviving Pilots carried each other off to the medical ward. The Pilot's Titan had been carried to its separate hangar by a heavy-lift transport to immediately work on repairs thanks to the skilled mechanics. Of course, there was also someone waiting for him.

"Welcome to the _Solaris_ , or rather, welcome home, Alan." Vanessa said, arms behind her back and walking alongside the Pilot. Even with his helmet on she could tell something was wrong and being the person she was, the woman didn't let him off that easy. "Hey. What happened?" She questioned with concern, grabbing the sleeve of Alan's arm to stop him.

"I," Alan began, looking to the metal, grated floor, "I don't want to talk about it."

"'Yet' you mean." The black-haired woman corrected, "You go do the usual, and we'll talk at the mess, understood?" She ordered. With a quiet nod, Alan was let go to walk to his room. Meanwhile Vanessa shook her head with worry as he walked away.

It didn't take long to follow routine, if nothing else Alan was grateful for Vanessa's care else he would have probably gone out to the field again, and again, and again until finally giving out long ago; probably would have been killed at the Boneyard too. Giving the occasional nod of thanks for compliments from various grunts he fought alongside in the past, Alan had made it back to the mess where he found Vanessa in the same spot with the same drink as last time. He sat opposite of her, waiting for her to speak first as per usual. "So, what happened?"

"Just the usual, taking care of the terrorists, dealing with a few Pilots, Titans, and so on." Alan told her.

"At least you're not lying." She said, seeing right through his deflection. "You know what I'm going to say right?"

"'Don't bottle it up.'" He quoted, resting his arms on the table.

"Then spill." Vanessa instructed.

"I-" Alan said forcing the words out, "I met Chris."

"Oh." Came the surprised response from the woman. "You..." She began, implying what he did.

"Killed him. I had to kill him." Alan explained, looking at his hands while the memory of pulling the trigger looped in his head. The two were quiet, only starting up their conversation again when two grunts entered the mess hall chatting. Vanessa set aside her drink, its warm steam still fresh from being recently made, and took his hands into her own.

"Look at me," She told the man. His once stern, but warm brown gaze had grown soft and cold when they met hers, "It was _not_ your fault." She encouraged, "Even if he was once a part of your team, he became something you would eventually face." Alan's regular expression returned but looked somewhat insulted.

"And how would you know?" He retorted, "I was fine being enemies knowing the chances of us meeting were slim at best. I could have gone the whole damn war without seeing them again!" The man yelled, bringing the attention of a few neighbors. Vanessa quickly looked to them and gave them an 'ignore this' gesture before returning to Alan. Gritting his teeth, the Pilot calmed back down when he felt Vanessa's hands squeeze his while her intense expression intimidated the anger before it could lash out. "I'm sorry." He sighed.

"Don't be. War doesn't pick favorites and this is the kind of war that pits brother against brother, father against son, and friend against friend." The woman shed her wisdom to him. Alan never knew where she would learn this kind of knowledge but that didn't matter, he was only happy it was him she chose to share it with. "What you did wasn't wrong, you did what you had to do, remember that."

"Thank you."

"I suggest going to the Rec Room or getting some sleep, you need to relax or if not then just rest. I should get back to my shift." Vanessa said. With that, she took her drink and left the man to his thoughts, patting his shoulder before leaving the mess hall. She was right, he needed something to ease his nerves and the tension. Something 'healthy' and not just a quick fix like pleasure or alcohol. He supposed he could play cards or train, sleep even, but either way the number of things he could do were kind of limited on the ship and he wasn't keen on the idea of cards or other games in the first place. Still, he wanted to do as asked and began his walk out of the mess hall and down the corridors. Taking the stairs up to the next deck, Alan eventually found himself at the entrance to the Rec Room again, this time it was a lot quieter than previously with only a handful of personnel kicking back and relaxing. He spotted one of Katherine's squadmates in a booth with their new recruit, joining him at his booth after grabbing a glass of water for himself.

"Cosmonaut," The man said in a slightly hoarse voice after downing a shot, "What brings you to this table here?"

"'Command' wanted me to let off some steam." Alan replied. Zohn, or 'Z' rather, poured another shot for himself, chuckling at what he really meant.

"Yeah I'll bet. 'Command' keeps a short, tight leash around your neck. I'm willing to bet that'll never come off either." He claimed, while the newest Pilot at the table simply looked somewhat intimidated by the presence of two veterans with a number of kills that easily could reach the triple digits each. Alan took notice of her too.

"This the 'Intern'?" Alan asked. Even when on a losing streak for a time the I.M.C. had the greatest asset the Militia didn't: money. That was sometimes all the incentive needed for a person to join them, of course recruits and especially Pilots were still difficult to come by as many people on the Frontier preferred to either stay out of the fighting like Angel City- after they became independent- or listened to the propaganda the Militia spouted 24-7 and joined to 'liberate the Frontier'. Still, the I.M.C. took what it can get and supplemented the rest with loads of Spectres.

"Yep, don't worry about him for now. She has the training but not the mindset just yet." Z said in place of the recruit.

"Alright. Anyways, where's Kat run off to? I want to make sure she's fine from yesterday."

"Last battle wore her out so she's out cold in her room, as for yesterday, she's tough so she'll manage. She always does."

"That's good to hear."

"Tell me about it, we had a few Pilot casualties but far less than expected, the Pilots we've been facing feel like they're a bit undercooked. I guess the Militia threw their literal best at Demeter only to have that MacAllan guy kill them all in a suicidal plan. Some leader."

This didn't seem to go as originally planned, without much to talk about there was only a short, awkward silence between them. They couldn't necessarily talk about the fights they've been in as such conversations grew rather stale over time and experience but the new recruit gave Alan a chance to quickly start something up. "So, who's the new girl?" He asked. Z only presented the recruit, waiting for her to introduce herself to the Pilot.

"E-Elizabeth Fischer, sir!" She stuttered. Definitely a new recruit.

"No need for the formality Eli, we're all family here." Alan reassured, "Except the ship crew, it's always safe to refer to them by rank unless told otherwise." Alan remembered, the only exception- for him and other veteran Pilots- being the lowest ranking crew and friends among the navy. They either respected or outright feared the Pilots for better or worse and occasionally one of the more laid-back Pilots might take a jab and make a joke of it.

"A-Alright, Cos-"

"'Alan' is fine." Alan interrupted, "So what brings you in the care of the I.M.C.?"

"Personal issues I'd rather not bring up..." She said softly, looking away with an expression both the more experienced Pilots have come to known over the course of the war.

"You and me both Eli, you and me both." Alan drank the last of his water, turning back to Z who waited patiently for the two to finish their talk. "I know it was a small chat but I better cut it short, the last battle may be starting to take its toll on me too."

"Don't worry about it, even the best Pilots need to rest from time to time. Stop by back here every now and then Alan, I'm sure everyone else is eager to catch up." Z recommended, raising his shot glass in a 'farewell'.

"Will do friend, see you around. Eli, coming from someone I know, 'don't dwell on the past'," He repeated the words Vanessa had told him not long ago, "It'll get you killed out in the field."

* * *

 **A.N.: Nothing more to say.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	6. Chapter 06: Terror of the Past

"Terror of the Past"

Command dedicated an entire week to planning the final assault to push the Militia off of Naga. For one week the I.M.C. prepared while the Militia stumbled over their own feet. Even after one week it would appear the water supplies had started running dry for the terrorists' fleet as evident by their desperate gambits at hitting smaller reserves and smuggling vessels trying to deliver their cargo. They weren't giving up on this string of moons just yet and the I.M.C. wasn't going to let them have room to breathe. Every now and then a few small strike teams would be sent to test the Militia's fortifications and as lady luck permitted, they were in rough shape. There was only so much one can do to challenge the climate of the desert moon and water was the greatest savior from dehydration and heatstroke. All that was left now was to cut right through the Militia's outgunned fleet.

"This is Vice Admiral Spyglass to all I.M.C. personnel," A monotone, robotic voice said over the intercom. The crews across the I.M.C. fleet sat or stood quiet to listen in on their synthetic leader, "The Militia fleet has been severely damaged and have been in a fighting retreat over the course of our engagements, but we cannot allow them to regroup and repair at neighboring, Militia-occupied, moons. Your mission is to assault the established Militia forward operating base and eradicate all enemies in the area. Additional mission details will be informed by commanding officers in the field. You will defeat the Militia and reclaim this system, operation begins in 0200 hours. Dismissed." The crew of the _Solaris_ stood frozen in place, unsure of what to immediately work on until the brave voice of a grunt captain split through the silence.

"You heard the Vice Admiral, get ready for operation!" The captain yelled. Once again grunts and Pilots scrambled to gather their gear, this time in a more organized fashion as the armory was tossing out rifles to the geared-up troops while everyone else hastily strapped on their armor and equipment before following suit. Having two hours gave the crew plenty of time to gather their belongings and say their farewells but already they were ready to deploy straight into the heat of battle.

Down in the dorms, Alan had just finished tightening his gloves while Vanessa leaned against the wall of his room. "Are you not going to grab a rifle?" The woman asked, eyebrow raised.

"Don't need to," He stated, patting his trusty pistol, "I've got all I need." Truth be told his weapon of choice was the standard assault rifle given to the rest of the ground forces but seeing as the Militia also fielded them Alan had figured a long while back that it was simply easier to steal one off the body of a dead terrorist. They even brought along ammo with them as a gift.

"I guess." She somewhat agreed, "Second wave, right?"

"Indeed, shame I'm not in the first but orders are orders."

"Oh, don't be like that, I'd honestly prefer it to have just a little extra time before you're sent off." Vanessa said, walking over to sit next to him on the bed before falling back into it. "Don't you ever think about doing anything else besides killing and fighting the Militia?"

"On occasion, but until this war is over one way or another I don't think I can do anything else." Alan said, accepting who he trained to become. "If you really want me to think about it right now then it would be to see home again. I'll make sure you get there safe and sound."

"Don't go all 'heroic sacrifice' on me, you know that isn't my style." She laughed.

"I know, and I don't plan on doing so anyways!" The Pilot told her.

Two hours must have gone by rather quick as already the first wave was told to begin deployment, naturally next up would be Alan and anyone else who got assigned with him. He picked himself up from his bed, offering a hand to pick up Vanessa who took it. The short walk was rather quiet between them but no other words were necessary.

Approaching the nearest hangar, Vanessa stopped just outside, "Take care, would you?"

"Aye Lieutenant." He acknowledged, turning to enter the Goblin dropship he was assigned to.

"Remember-!" She called out before being interrupted.

"I know." Alan put on his helmet and took a seat. The ship's doors sealed up as the crew woman nodded and started toward her post for the coming battle. After a few minutes of calibrations and engine tests the small transport was away and found its way to the vacuum of space outside. He was joined by Sasha, the best sharpshooter aboard the _Solaris,_ who was usually quiet and kept to herself while the rest of the seats were filled with mainly grunts and single team of Spectres. Even the soldier- whom he had come to know as 'Edgar Cross'- that had waved him down to join his pod over a week ago was in with him.

"Good to see you again sir. So, does that one belong to you?" Edgar asked referring to Vanessa.

"Nope." The Pilot replied.

"So, she's free then?" Another grunt asked.

"Well," Alan started, showing off his Pilot gear, "Let's just say I wouldn't try it." Even if he meant it in a joking manner, Alan could tell it made him sound like some overprotective friend but it kept the mood high. The rest of the passengers were in good spirits with the recent victories so banter like this grew more common among the troops. Edgar settled down before speaking again.

"If there's one thing I'm gonna' do down there it's going to be to steal a Militia's coffee machine!" He claimed.

"Make 'em pay for our lost hero!" Another grunt chimed in with a fit of laughs.

"Hey," The dropship pilot yelled, silencing the troops with a glance back at the passenger hold, "Be sure to bring me back a cup too, I need my caffeine sometime in the next few days else I'm might just lose it." With that the passengers enjoyed their trip getting into position with other dropships; except Sasha who kept quiet and inspected her D.M.R. From the windows, far out like little specs of rock, was the Militia fleet waiting in fear of the I.M.C. assault, but the I.M.C. wasn't about to show them mercy. "Alright cut the chatter, initiating drop-sequence!" The pilot ordered and within seconds of spinning up the jump-drive the fleet of Goblins had jumped away, down to the moon below.

Just as the Goblin jumped above the landing sight it came under heavy fire that rocked the passengers back and forth while the pilots did their best to evade the hail of missiles and bullets but even their best wasn't good enough. One of the engines had been blown off and the transport spun out of control, the occupants gripping tight to their seats as to not get thrashed about and killed. The Goblin collided into the sandy ground below, skidding to an abrupt halt as it hit a boulder in their path. It was fortunate that the pilots had managed to guide the damaged ship closer to the ground which ensured the occupants' survival but such a feat didn't come without injuries.

Alan could hear nothing but ringing in his ears thanks to the impact of his head hitting the metal hull, cushioned only by his helmet. He could see Sasha hold her head in a similar fashion as she threw off the seat straps and fell to the ground with her rifle now in arms. To his right, the Pilot saw Edgar and another soldier unhooking themselves to aid two unconscious grunts while the pilots climbed to the back, one with an bloody leg while another grabbed a first-aid kit to help Edgar tend to the three casualties.

"They're out of it but they're fine!" Alan heard Edgar yell, only hearing it faintly. The four other grunts picked themselves up and prepared to disembark from the wreck. Alan did the same, stumbling outside and falling to his hands and knees in the sand only to look up and find himself before a wall of gun turrets and concrete not too far from where they crashed. The Spectres, being the durable machines that they were, ran passed him into the battlefield to rally at whatever destination they had been ordered to arrive at. Despite having slightly hazy vision the Pilot took in the destructive sight of the battlefield, unable to do anything but watch events unfold. Friendly transports were scraping by, dropping their troops before making a hasty retreat if possible but some would be caught and shot down from the concentrated fire of missiles and chain gun rounds. Some of the Militia Titans inside the compound were armed with missile launchers of all variants, standing as improvised S.A.M.s while fortifications were manned with machine guns and Militia grunts. Military intelligence must have been fooled about the state of affairs as even the lighter I.M.C. Titans were being pinned down from the constant fire from 40mm cannons that kept them from moving forward without getting torn apart; this left the Ogres to do most of the work. The dazed Pilot could now see just how bad the grunts and other ground forces had it. His eyes were brought to a pair of grunts, one lugging his injured friend to safety while a daring Militia Pilot went beyond the safety of the fortified wall to follow them. Coming to face the end of a pistol barrel, the grunts froze in dread at their imminent death. The uninjured soldier grabbing his friend and preparing their immediate end. Alan could do nothing as his body was still recovering from the impact, watching the two with a powerless gaze until the trail of a D.M.R. rushed passed his head and through the Militia Pilot's helmet. Looking back Alan found Sasha with her rifle raised just in time for his hearing and vision to return. With a nod the one still able grunt team rallied together.

"Alpha team on me, let's not let the Pilots take all the credit!" The leader gave out his inspiring cry with his team following right behind him. Alan took a deep breath, looking at the facility-turned-fort before making a dash for a severed wing of a Militia Hornet. As he kicked off the short surface to gain speed, the two grunts Sasha had just saved looked up in awe as they watched the Pilot as if he was free from the confines of gravity, flying wherever he pleases. The man climbed higher, scaling the side of a destroyed turret's pillar to reach the other side of the wall while to the left of him appeared five other Pilots with the same idea. Alan had landed on the top of a stack of shipping containers that were being used as a second layer of defense before dropping just enough to sprint across its side and keep his momentum going. The four grunts below him stood no chance as he unloaded eight rounds into them. An enemy Pilot tried to stop with a strong kick but sliding right under his leg Alan used the last of his magazine to kill him. Stealing his rifle and a grenade, the Pilot unpinned the latter, tossing it at an entrance of a building just as a squad of Militia grunts were arriving and using the gun to take down two more terrorists that he came across. On instinct, he checked behind him only to find the corpse of another Militia Pilot that was about to stab him fall to the asphalt, curtesy of Sasha who was taking position in the wreckage of a destroyed turret base. Alan gave her a nod of thanks, using his jump-kit to run across the nearest building's walls and burst through one of the windows to kill a grunt with the last of his rifle's ammo. He dropped the empty rifle and grabbed one of the other grunts, throwing him into one of his squadmates before pulling his knife to throw at the last standing grunt. Without missing a beat, Alan ran to pull his knife from the body, stabbing one of the other grunts in the chest and throwing him to the floor. Soon after there was a strong set of arms grabbing him from behind, it was the final Militia soldier. Alan elbowed the man in the stomach, pulling him over his shoulder and back to the floor before grabbing his knife and giving a finishing stab to the chest. He felt a rumble of rock and outside the window he came in through was an I.M.C. Ogre Titan that had crushed through a section of the wall to get inside. Grunts and Spectres started swarming the area, taking cover and getting into a firefight with the Militia not long after coming into contact with them. On the comms of one of the dead terrorists at his feet he could overhear the Militia chatter.

"Breach, breach, a Titan has breached the perimeter!" The Militia on the other end yelled. More friendly Titans emerged, overwhelming both the unsuspecting Titans still trying to defend the air and overpower those that tried to resist. It didn't take long for a few turrets to cease firing, turning on the Militia to fight for their rightful owners once more; thanks to what he assumed was a Pilot's data-knife.

A squad of I.M.C. grunts ran up the stairwell, finding the Pilot surrounded by the bodies but did not even ask. "Osborn, Benson, get on those consoles and try to shut down the enemy security measures in place, I want all other available perimeter turrets back on our side!" He turned to Alan, "We can take it from here sir, you go on ahead while we hold the fort." Taking his word for it, the Pilot jumped out the same window and climbed up to the roof. He could see I.M.C. forces had created a good beachhead of the facility while the Militia fell by the dozens, even their Titans couldn't stop the I.M.C. from pushing forward.

Alan began his sprint across the roof, jumping over the space between his building and the next to crash through another window, this time rolling to a stop in an empty room. It was a fairly small room, no bigger than a storage room holding a few boxes and crates but once Alan got up he heard the sound of an arc-grenade go off as well as an entire magazine of a C.A.R. being emptied. The man reloaded his pistol, opening the door and turning the corner to find a friendly Pilot snap the neck of an unfortunate Militia one. Lowering his weapon, the woman in front of Alan dropped the body to the floor- it joining the two other Militia Pilot corpses around the room- as she held her arms wide open. "Welcome!" She said loudly. Just from the tone alone he could tell who it was: Katherine. "It's a shame you were a little late to the party." She complained.

"Well I never got an invitation," Alan joked with a smile under his helmet, "Plus I had to make a slight detour." He finished.

"Alan please," Katherine began, shaking her head, "When have I ever said you needed an 'invitation'?" She asked with finger quotes. Two squads of friendly grunts arrived to support the Pilots for the next room.

"I suppose never, but we can have our fun chat later, lets focus on the battle." Alan replied remembering where he was. Katherine agreed, stacking beside a set of doors that led to a repair bay, Alan did the same only this time there were no Spectres that the grunts could use as walking shields. On the count of three the man kicked open the two doors separating them from the Titan garage bays. The I.M.C. soldiers stormed the place that was only defended by a handful of Militia troops and a single half-functioning Atlas Titan trying to be of some use. Both the Pilots ran across the walls in either direction, the woman tossing an arc-grenade at the Titan while the man a frag at the grunts. Blinded by the shock, the Titan could do nothing as Katherine boarded the mech and fired on its internals, bringing it down with ease as it already had little left in the way of structure and armor to protect its Pilot. As the friendly grunts took control of the scaffolding, the Titan fell with its Pilot falling to the concrete floor, looking up only to find Alan's pistol to his face. The I.M.C. Pilot pulled the trigger as the terrorist tried to pull a grenade on him. Around the garage was a plethora of Titan parts ranging from the smaller Stryder arms to the tanky Ogre legs while all of the 'together' Titans were hooked up to their own pads awaiting a refit or repair that wouldn't come, until the I.M.C. could come along and hijack them. Much of the fighting outside had started to die down, at least it wasn't as chaotic and ear deafening as when they first 'landed' but it said the Militia were losing ground, fast. With enough luck, their home fleet in orbit might outright destroy the ragtag vessels that Militia called their own 'fleet' leaving the other moons ripe for the picking without any orbital support for the terrorists.

"Well, I'd say that was too easy," Alan boasted, steadying his breathing, "but that would be lying." He reloaded his Hammond once again in preparation for the next encounter.

"That's the spirit!" Katherine applauded, "I bet the others can handle-" Her sentence was cut off by a call for help over their radio. It was something that shocked woman and brought fear to those that heard it.

"Mayday, mayday, this is Bravo lead, fourth company, my whole team is dead repeat, my whole team is dead! It's him, it's _The Reaper_ , I repeat its-" The connection was cut by a mechanical stomp and static on the other end. The rest of the grunts looked at each other as if an answer would emerge at what to do about the brutalist Militia Pilot they had heard about.

"What do we do sir?" A grunt yelled, grabbing the railing to look at Alan with a panicked tone in his voice. The Pilot stood in place, unable to answer as he couldn't help but remember all the gore he had witnessed before his eyes and how easily the man they faced could kill. He had no thoughts, no real strategy, just blood and steel were all he needed and he had proven it. Clenching his fist and swallowing his fear once more, Alan abandoned his usual relaxed and calm attitude in favor for a more serious one; he would need it now more than ever. "All of you, rendezvous at Point Charlie and support our forces there. I'll deal with that pirate." Alan declared, looking to the garage's side exit. Katherine grabbed his arm, stopping him from taking another step forward.

"Where the hell are you going?" She yelled, "He will kill you Alan, he almost did last time!"

"I know what happened in the past Katherine." He replied. His aggressive tone caught the woman off guard, especially in combination with her full first name, "You already know there's only one way to kill a Pilot of that skill, either through overwhelming force-"

"-or an equal..." The woman finished, "But you aren't-"

"I may be neither of those on my own but with the combined efforts of other forces he will not stand a chance, he will die on this moon today." Alan claimed, calling in for his Titan to drop from orbit. With a loud crash outside the Pilot pulled away from Katherine, "Secure the facility Kath, this fight isn't over yet."

Alan slid into the hand of his Titan, being pushed back into its seat as the hatch closed on him. "Welcome back Pilot, what is our task today?" Anya asked, taking her weapon from the Titan's back.

"We'll be fighting a dangerous target, prepare for severe to critical damage; maybe even destruction." Alan instructed his Titan, starting a run to meet the enemy from long ago. Anya was quiet, processing the information like a human would preparing themselves to meet their fate. The Pilot was a bit taken aback at the machine's fear of 'death', such a thought had never occurred to him.

"As you wish," Anya acknowledged, "Shall I send the message?"

"No Anya, I have no plans of dying today."

"That is encouraging, I wish you the best of luck Stassov." The Stryder said, allowing its owner to take full control of the systems.

It didn't take long to reach the opposite end of the facility, the place was covered in fire, bodies, and a few Titan wrecks from both sides. Alan had come to find a single Ogre Titan tear out a Pilot from their fallen Atlas, crushing him between its mechanical fingers before tossing the body to the side. It was decorated with white, painted skulls and covered with a red camo scheme while bits of spikes were haphazardly welded onto its shoulders and arms. A typical sight among bandits and outlaws.

"Would you look at this, we've got some new flesh coming to play the hero." The Pilot, Mannes Breukers, mocked with a rough, gravelly voice. "What's a small Stryder like you doing challenging a big Ogre like me?" The Titan rolled its shoulders, picking up its Arc-Cannon. "You're probably new so I'll make a little deal with you, why don't you turn around and head back to where you came from and I let you off scot-free, eh?" Mannes offered before charging up his weapon. Alan fired first, two shells hitting the Ogre's hull before electricity shot off and missed the Stryder. The one advantage he had, speed, and Alan would have to rely on it as well as the small amount of cover he had in order to survive. Shipping containers stacked on top of one another provided majority of the safety from the electricity but if Alan so much as touched it while it was shocked his shields would drain. The Stryder dashed out of cover, firing a few more rounds before taking shelter behind a wall. He could do nothing except survive until reinforcements arrived and that was cutting it too close for comfort. The wall was then smashed apart by the Ogre causing Alan to dash back from the attack but was hit by a shock from the arc-weapon which distorted his vision and drained his shields. As the I.M.C. Pilot attempted to dash behind his deadly opponent he was met with the might of an arm that slammed his Titan back into a building. A fist fast approached him but he narrowly escaped its path, seeing it crush through another wall to reveal the building's interior. Still trapped by the Ogre, Alan unleashed a hail of rockets, devastating the Ogre's shields and knocking off bits of armor plating, forcing the Titan to stumble back. "Nice move, but you'll have to do better than that Pilot." The Reaper complimented while Alan escaped from the Ogre's clutches. Anya's sensors warned of missile locks, seconds later a fleet of homing missiles were launched at the Stryder, all caught by the Vortex Shield. Alan fired back hoping to return them to their respective owner but the cluster of missiles were destroyed by a shot of electricity halfway between them. "You aren't the first to do that, let's just say that doesn't work on me." Mannes said over the comms. Alan took cover behind a building, about to go back out but the Ogre beat him to it, firing on the Stryder once again and punching it back into a pile of shipping containers. Before he could deliver a killing blow with his fist, a wave of Sidewinder missiles, grenades from a Magnetic-Launcher, and finally a shot of a railgun from another Stryder hit and knocked the Ogre away from Alan's Stryder, stripping it of its heavy armor. The enemy Titan turned to zap the running Pilots running along the buildings and containers but was stopped as Alan grabbed the arc-weapon and forced it to miss. "Still got some fight in ya', I like that." The pirate said as he threw away his weapon in favor of melee. The two Stryders had joined up, the one with the Railgun keeping back while Alan tried to circle the heavy Titan to no effect. Anya was at moderate damage already and the friendly Titan shot its weapon once again but it was caught by the vortex shield of the Mannes's own Titan. He shot the round back, doing a good deal of damage to the ranged Titan before charging towards it instead of Alan. Alan may have been quicker but he couldn't deal a good hit on the Ogre without his weapon that had been tossed aside a few moments prior. The Ogre used its dash to catch the staggered Stryder off guard, pushing it over and crushing its legs with a stomp. Alan was about to give the Titan a punch but was smacked to the ground by the Ogre using the fallen Stryder's railgun as a club. A ground Pilot tried climbing to rodeo the hostile Titan but was quickly grabbed and thrown some distance over the wall to skid across the sand. Once Alan had finished recovering, the other ground Pilot was grabbed, about to be crushed were it not for Alan grabbing the outstretched arm and swinging the Ogre to the other side of him, saving the Pilot who dropped to the ground and held his chest in disbelief at his life that had probably flashed before his eyes. Anya's analysis indicated that the Ogre had suffered a great deal more damage to its hull than the Stryder but the heavy-hitting Titan didn't need many openings to doom Alan. The two didn't wait long to start the fist fight again, Alan's light punches unable to do much damage but he manage to evade and avoid each of the Ogre's own as it was already slow with weight, the added cosmetics only adding to it. Slowly stripping the armor off on one of the Titan's arms Alan eventually found the vulnerable joints, grabbing it and pushed his Titan's systems to pull the Ogre over his shoulder. He could feel the weight of the hostile Titan strain Anya with creaks being heard all around him a few lights going as far as giving out with a burst of sparks and a flicker. The Pilot ignored the warning indicated on his H.U.D., watching it vanish after the Ogre was brought to the asphalt. He had torn off its arm and just as Alan was going to finish the fight his fist slammed into the ground, Mannes had managed to get up in time. With his one good arm the pirate punched Alan back into another set of containers, watching the warning signs on the structural integrity being close to compromised.

"Warning, critical damage sustained." Anya warned, "Advise use of dash to retreat." Alan ignored her warning as another punch came his way, this time he had caught it, taking both his arms to do so. The two Titans couldn't budge, stuck in their respective positions. Both hatches opened as Mannes tried to climb the Stryder only to have his ankle grabbed and thrown to the floor, something Alan mimicked from another fight before jumping down after him. The pirate pushed off his hands and landed on his feet, unsheathing a knife while Alan pulled his Hammond.

"You've got talent," The Militia Pilot began, using his hands to block Alan from firing any rounds into him, "But I don't let anyone I fight live." Each shot Alan took just narrowly missed Mannes while each cut of his opponent's knife had cut just through Alan's uniform. Mannes went for a jab, Alan grabbed it stealing the knife before spinning around to try to impale the Militia Pilot only to have his arm caught and the knife stolen back. In a quick swipe Mannes had cut across Alan's right arm, the Hammond being thrown out of his hand while the knife tried to lunge for his neck. The I.M.C. Pilot punched Mannes's tight stomach, receiving a slash across his left leg in the process but the Adrenaline kept him from slowing down. Alan managed to grab the other man's arm, bringing it close to try and disarm him but just as he tried to remove the knife Mannes gave him a headbutt. Alan stumbled back, feeling a slice across his abdomen that he had barely noticed in time to dodge it from cutting any deeper than it already had. Another cut across the right arm, and then the left leg, and then the right leg, and then left arm, until finally being kicked to the ground by the Militia's boot. Alan felt the man's weight on top of him, bloodied knife in the air before a trail from a D.M.R. split between them. To their right was an injured Sasha, blood running down the side of her face and another Pilot arriving with his own knife just in time, he must have lost his weapon earlier. "Well then," The pirate said, pushing off of Alan, "I know a fight I can't win when I see it." The man ducked behind his Titan as another shot rang out and hit its hull but missed the man. He used his Titan as a surface to run off of while Alan grabbed his fallen Hammond and fired the remaining three rounds he had at the enemy Pilot, unable to hit with any of them. Alan picked himself up, stumbling a bit for a reason yet unknown to him while the Pilot behind him fell to his knees to catch his breath, muttering his fears.

"Kath," Alan panted, forcing his body to follow Mannes's trail, "He's going to use the facility as cover, evacuate all personnel inside and get out of there."

"No, I'll go for the kill instead!" She said over the radio.

"No dammit! Do not engage him Kath, do not-" He was cut short by the connection being terminated. "Dammit!" He cursed to himself. Following the trail of broken glass and opened doors.

It didn't take long to catch up to him in a hangar bay full of containers, lifts, and two squads of dead I.M.C. grunts and the Militia Pilot pinning Katherine to the ground with his knife to her neck. He noticed Alan and his raised pistol, pulling the injured girl up to her feet with the knife still held to her throat. "So, you're back." Manne's said, looking Alan up and down, "Wait, I knew there was something familiar about you!" He scoffed, "You're Alan Stassov, aren't you? 'The Washington Murderer', 'The Loyal Hound', or as people who know my reputation call you, 'The One Survivor'. I'll say, you've made quite a name and a number of enemies in the Militia after the Battle of Victor, many even fear you, especially after you had a major hand in destroying the _Washington_. Personally, I give you my compliments in performing such a feat but other people seem to have had families on board, even hold a little grudge against you and the I.M.C. all together because of it."

"Let her go Mannes." Alan ordered, knowing he wouldn't comply.

"Really?" He said in astonishment. "Did you really just say that when I have the advantage?"

"Just shoot him, Alan!" Katherine struggled to let out.

"Yeah, do it Alan, shoot us both. 'Anything to kill a Militia' right?" He mocked. Alan narrowed his eyes, taking aim again, this time unable to both get a clear shot nor bring himself to pull the trigger. "What? Don't like your friends sharing secrets about you?"

"They aren't friends of mine any longer." Alan replied.

"Of course, of course, that must be why that Chris fellow is dead." Mannes said with a chuckle. Alan clenched the handle of his gun, it taking every fiber of his being not letting his emotions get the better of him. "Did I hit a nerve? Well if it makes you feel any better everyone else is doing just fine. They're welcomed with open arms, well more than you would be." The two stood in a brief moment of silence, "You really do have an iron-will, that or a lot of thick blood, fine, why don't we make another deal? You slide that gun of yours over and I'll give you the girl."

"Don't do it Alan, this may be your- your, only chance. Take. The. Shot!" Katherine demanded in-between struggles.

"So, what'll it be?" Mannes asked. Alan gave in and accepted the offer, slowly placing his gun on the floor and sliding it over.

"Alan what the hell!" Katherine cursed at him.

"He made his choice hun, and I am a man of my word and honor my deals so here you go." He said, shoving Katherine into Alan's arms while the Militia Pilot picked up the weapon, "I don't know how you managed to kill that friend of yours if you're this naive. Making this kind of deal with a 'privateer' like myself is suicide." He took aim at the two, pulling the trigger twice only to hear two clicks of an empty chamber. He looked at the gun in surprise but then an impresses grin formed under his helmet, "I've got to say Alan, you are clever too. I thought the first time we met was just a fluke but you know what you're doing." He tossed the gun back to the two I.M.C., "Unfortunately my ride is here so," He started, injecting a syringe full of stimulant into his leg, "This is where I leave, we'll call this one a draw." He said before sprinting at a rapid speed, sliding under the hangar doors and running to meet the barely visible Crow dropship waiting for him on the other side.

"Alan," Katherine yelled, grabbing the sides of the man's helmet, "What were you thinking letting him go like that? He'll..." Alan stopped listening to her, either that or he couldn't hear her over the dizziness he found himself in. He put a hand to his stomach, feeling a warm liquid smear across his glove but when he took a look at his hand, his fingers were trembling with the sight of his own blood. "Alan?" He heard faintly, "Alan!" He heard again, this time he was too tired to keep his eyes open and collapsed into Katherine's grasp.

 _'Sorry Vanessa,'_ He thought, _'I don't think I can keep word this time.'_

* * *

 **A.N.: This was a rather long one, well longer than previous chapters. Roughly triple that of the each previous one in fact.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	7. Chapter 07: Moment of Rest

"Moment of Rest"

Alan gasped awake, grabbing at the light above him but catching only air. It was just a dream he had woken up from. He found himself in a fairly cramped room that was barren in terms of looks. Only steel and white fabrics surrounded him save the rare red cross that was painted on a few small cases and a cabinet. A typical patient's room in the infirmary as he had come to know a while back but that didn't stop its appearance from being any less disappointing. The Pilot tried to sit up, feeling a sharp pain across his stomach that forced him back down into the firm mattress. Shifting his eyes downward he saw the barely visible bandages across his stomach and arms, and assumed there were wraps around his legs too. The memory of his fight came back to him, the pirate, the trade, the murder of an unknown number of people. He tried to move around but the uncomfortable pain urged his body to sit still, it wasn't the worst he had felt save his stomach and left leg but he still felt it. Alan had to guess that a medivac had been sent in to pick him and other casualties up from the field.

Collecting his thoughts, Alan noticed the room door hiss open and on impulse Alan reached for his pistol only to pat his leg for the missing weapon and giving it a little sting when his thumb brushed against the cut. It was good that it was missing too because in the doorway was the clean and neat uniform of the person he always came back to. Vanessa. She calmly put down a tray with a steaming bowl on a nearby table before slowly approaching the man before giving him a surprise slap across the cheek.

"The hell was that for?" Alan asked, putting a hand to his cheek to comfort the stinging.

"For nearly killing yourself again, for going after one of the most dangerous men even _you yourself_ said was near 'unstoppable', for making me worry in fear of potentially seeing you finally cut the rope!" She shouted, "Funnily enough it was your critical state and that you were a Pilot that put you high on the list else you probably would have died from blood loss."

"But I didn't." Alan joked, trying to lighten the mood. His attempts failed however as the woman's eyes narrowed in annoyance, lightly running a finger across Alan's bandaged stomach which shot a sharp pain through him, "Ow! Ok! Ok! I get it!" He yelped for her to stop. At least he knew not to try something like that again. "What happened?"

"Well you're in the infirmary, you've been out for almost two days no thanks to the blood loss, and since then the fleet has been making progress in retaking the moons once the Militia fleet jumped out of the system." Vanessa reported, turning to pick up the soup bowl to give to Alan. The man shifted himself just enough for her to take a seat on the bed, "It's a bit bland in terms of taste but that isn't really my problem."

"Well you're comforting."

"Coming from the guy who joked about his near death for the _second time_." Vanessa retorted, offering the bowl to Alan.

"Point taken." He accepted, taking the hot offering in his hands.

"Anyhow the doc said you'll be out of commission for at least a week minimum assuming you don't push it and actually let it heal."

"Well a week is a bit of a long time-" A threatening finger loomed over his stomach, "-to catch up with you, the others, and rest up." He complied, saving himself from the woman taking advantage of his state.

"Good to know."

"Speaking of which, where is the doc, or my stuff for that matter?"

"You didn't think you were the only one injured in all the fighting, did you? The medical staff have their hands full with other patients, and if you're referring to that handgun of yours I think a friend might have taken it." Vanessa said dismissively with a bit of bitterness in her voice, "But enough of that, why don't we take the time to talk about what happened down on the surface? Just to continue old habits."

"Alright, we'll start with my transport crashing." Alan began. The color from Vanessa's face drained in concern, it was sure to be a story to tell.

After retelling the woman what he could remember, and receiving a scolding afterword, Alan could do nothing but wait for his body to repair itself from the injuries. It wasn't unfamiliar with being wounded in battle but he sure hated having to sit out, unable to even see what was going on during the battles such as the ones leading up to Demeter. Iori had left just before the critical moment of the Frontier leaving the already disheartened team at half strength. Chris too was wounded in the same battle, and with Alan still in unfit condition from the Boneyard at the time the only one who could be deployed from their team was Roy. The fun-loving man had a code of his own and never killed a single grunt on the Militia's side, only wounding them to a point where they could no longer fight back, it was something that a few members of the I.M.C. disapproved of. Still, he would fight Pilots and Spectres knowing they would show no mercy and he showed that he was good at it too, one could say it was his 'saving grace'. After learning news of his fate, the only solace Chris and Alan had was that the man most likely died with a carefree smile on his face.

~ (-) ~

A medic had come and gone, checking up on the Pilot and telling him of his injuries but aside from some occasional chills and drowsiness Alan was informed that he would be fine. He could even get up and walk around so long as he was 'extra careful'. It was just another necessity added to the list for Pilots to follow these days, no smokes, careful alcohol consumption, absolutely no drugs (unless you wanted to count stim), and always on the move so performance never dipped to life-threatening levels. They weren't enforced but rules were rules and if the Militia was believed to be more relaxed on them then that was the cause of why they lose so many people during battles. Now that he thought about it, Alan wondered why the I.M.C. 'lost' assuming the Militia was less rigid and strict on rules. He concluded that it had to be due to the sheer amount of manpower they kept recruiting and unconventional methods used that brought the terrorists out on top; finding that new leader from that unsanctioned colony certainly didn't help the situation. Either way the past brought him to where he was, watching every one of his steps while he limped at a tortoise's pace in an attempt to not try opening the wounds. It's a good thing nothing vital was hit during his engagement with the pirate else he may have to retire early and Alan wasn't eager to smooth out the rougher recruits; assuming he wasn't killed in the fight in the first place.

The ship's corridors were long, narrow, and stale, not to mention quiet without people running around or Spectres patrolling for any signs of possible spies. The people who called the ship home had often commented on how 'good' the Spectres were at doing their job patrolling the ship, mainly because they've never found anyone of the sort in the first place. Still, it was at least comforting that the programmed troops stepped up when everyone else valued their sleep and considering there hasn't been a sabotage incident on the _Solaris_ one could argue they weren't given enough credit for what they're worth.

It didn't take for Alan to stumble his way to the rec room, it was lively once again though not as much as when he had first returned. On his right, the bar was empty save the bartender cleaning a few glasses with a blank expression- it was a miracle that the man put up with so much of the visitors' shenanigans- while to the left side of the room full of tables and booths were all but filled with Pilots and grunts be them friends or squadmates or both.

"Ay, he lives," Z said, "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"This is familiar." Alan muttered, pulling himself over to the squad's booth with the help of a grunt whom had noticed his condition. After giving him a word of thanks Alan turned his attention to the Pilots of Zulu Team, _'The Last Resorts'_ as they called themselves. There were only three of them at the time, the new recruit, Zohn himself, and finally Isaac who seemed to have faceplanted the table, drink still in hand.

"I never got a chance to say this because you ran off, but thanks for saving my skin back on Naga." Z thanked, taking a drink from his glass only for Alan to see that this time it was filled with water, "Never knew how cold a Titan's hand could feel until I was staring at death's door."

"That was you?" Alan asked. He never even realized who the other Pilots were thanks to their helmets and quick movement hiding their faces and insignias. The only exception was Sasha who had thrown it aside sometime during the latter half of the battle.

"You didn't notice?"

"I was uh, 'focused', on the Militia Pilot."

"I guess I don't blame ya', The Reaper himself, right?" Z asked. Alan nodded, eyes wandering off trying to forget about what the pirate had done in the past. "Well at least you beat him."

"About that," Alan corrected, "He's still alive."

"Oh, I know," Z replied, much to Alan's surprise, "While at first I was a bit angry that you let him go, it was only after a Kath told everyone else that I accepted the decision." Alan sat quit along with the three other Pilots, "Gotta' say, knowing you, I would've put my money on you emptying a clip just to kill that guy. However, you chose to instead to save another life for the second time in a row. I wonder what made you change, but you're on a roll so keep it up!" He joked with a chuckle.

"Right speaking of which, where is Katherine?"

"Just missed her, said she'd head out to check up on you actually." Z informed the other Pilot casually. "You can probably-" The man's sentence was interrupted as the woman in question had brought her hands down on the table, waking Isaac from his slumber to a face that looked as if it hadn't seen sleep in weeks only to rest his head once again in his arms. "Really? I waste my time going over to the med-bay only to find you here?" She said with an angry tone "So," She began after calming down, "Still alive then?"

"Surprisingly," The Alan remarked, "What brings you back here?"

"Do I have to spell it out? I actually left to check up on _you_ until I found the room empty." She said with a hint of annoyance. "That and I have this," She said, pulling Alan's Hammond from her side, "This will belong to me until you pay me back. You still owe me that 'fun chat' from a few days ago."

"Hey I'm going to want- Need that back you know."

"Of course, but what use is it to you right now all injured and out of action?" She asked, teasing the man by dangling the gun just out of his reach. "Ah well you can have it back when you're better." Katherine said, holstering the pistol and nudging Alan closer to the wall to reclaim her seat.

"Only if it's as soon as I heal up again."

"Not so fast there, remember: I said you still owe me a 'fun chat' later you know. So, until you're all healthy again I'll be keeping it safe for now. Only then we can talk." She said, asking for Z to pour her a drink, "Oh and Alan," She began, her voice sincere this time and a bit quieter, "Thank you."

"For what?" He asked. Sure he assumed and was told by Z that it was for saving her, but he didn't really think too much of it.

"You can't really be this dense right?" She rolled her eyes. The injured Pilot could only sigh.

"Anyways what's up with him?" Alan asked looking at Isaac for another topic of conversation.

"Oh him? Well he had a cup of coffee just before the first deployment on Naga." Z mentioned.

"So how does-"

"He stimmed it." Zohn interrupted, "Don't know why he did it or where he got the idea but just yesterday after returning he crashed and it looks like it's taking his toll."

"And you're letting him drink?"

"Hey, I'm not his parent." Z retorted, Katherine following suit with some witty response of her own. "It's amazing he's lasted this long." Z admired, the whole table looking at the semi-passed out man who weakly held up his glass before giving up on the menial task. "Speaking of crashing and recovering, I overheard some of the engineers earlier and apparently Titans are starting to sit in maintenance for weeks at a time."

"Weeks?" Alan exclaimed, remembering the state Anya was in when he left the Stryder. The light Titan made it out of its recent fight together with rivets and bolts, the frame barely making it out of combat. It was going to be just that much more difficult fighting battles without the critical use of Titans; news a certain other Paladin crew may have rejoiced and panicked upon hearing.

"Well you already know parts have been hard to come by lately and without visiting a dedicated manufacturing center regularly we won't have any spare chassis for the future." Z told the group, taking a drink.

"Still haven't taken serious damage," Katherine bragged, "Who knows maybe it'll be _me_ you have to call for help. I owe you all that much at least."

"But not the gun?" Alan asked, turning to the woman.

"Not the gun." She said smugly, while Z quietly remarked on how his Titan was in a similar state. The four- five still counting Isaac- went on to catch up on recent news. There wasn't much to tell being only a day since the liberation of Naga but with another one of Kraken's moons slowly being picked away at the System would eventually return to the I.M.C. once more. The Militia fleet that had dared to challenge them had been all but destroyed, fleeing to their conquered space while their remnant forces still in the system were left behind to fend for themselves. Although the group of terrorists may have had fighting chance for a long time, that devastating breath of luck had started to run out and the I.M.C. was more than willing to take advantage of that.

* * *

 **A.N.: At least I didn't upload a chapter from another story this time haha! Anyways, here's number seven. It is short sad to say, but it's getting back on track. Plus there isn't really much one can do when a character is unable to 'continue' the plot and making another point of view isn't viable _yet._ Perhaps in the future? But that's a bridge to cross far later.  
**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	8. Chapter 08: The Second Offensive

"The Second Offensive"

Hydra was the home and heart of I.M.C. operations in the Kraken planetary system, but weeks ago it had fallen to Militia hands. The fortifications had been looted and ransacked by the terrorists and they took with them whatever they could get their hands on: weapons and ammunition, infantry support equipment, even a number of Titans had been captured and put to use by the insurgents. From what Alan heard, the fighting had been glorious with friendly forces winning battle after battle without a single devastating defeat in combination with below average losses; something the war was never willing to allow before. Without a higher chain of command nor the ability to reinforce themselves the Militia had proven how willing it was to abandon its people just to save its own skin. Morale within the Militia ranks had shrunk ever since their fleet fled the system and it didn't look like it would return anytime soon.

Two weeks Alan had been out of action, and the itch for a fight had started to bother him. He had been given the 'all clear' by the medical staff a few days ago, but since the fleet had not decided to make a push on Dagon yet the Pilot could do nothing but wait. In the meantime, he had brought himself over to the mess hall where Vanessa was waiting for him for their regular talks. Upon entering the large room Alan found noticed a gathering of grunts gathered around a new coffee machine that had what he assumed was a Militia personnel's name scratched out and 'Property of Solaris' written in marker above it. It was an odd sight though a welcome one, the celebration could have easily taken place at the rec room's bar with a handful of bottles of booze but instead it was coffee. Of all things it was coffee with even a few of them who were usually tea drinkers gathered among them.

The Pilot continued his short trip to his regular table, room for many more but taken only by two including himself, "Sorry I'm late. Lost track of time." He apologized, taking his seat in front of the woman with a cup of coffee freshly brewed from the 'liberated machine'.

"Don't worry about it, we have plenty of time since the fleet is still reorganizing its assets." She replied, making a shooing gesture with her hand, "To be honest I don't think I've ever seen the troops' spirits so high before so I'm in a good mood for now."

"For now?"

"Well I can't tell the future, can you?"

"Right, well anyways, how was your part in the battle?" Alan begrudgingly asked, a little envious that a member of the ship's crew had more stories to tell about the battle than a trained Pilot. A battle that had no Militia fleet to fight against at that.

"Oh, I can see someone isn't too happy about," Vanessa chuckled, "Well since you are _so_ curious, I'll indulge." Alan couldn't help but force a content nod while on the inside he wanted nothing more than to do what he was trained to do. "Thanks to our valiant forces on the ground destroying anti-air batteries the Solaris and a few other ships could freely enter the atmosphere and rain fire down on Militia strongholds."

"Is that what kept me up when I was trying to sleep?" The man asked.

"Probably, but I'm sure others would have loved to have your position of sitting in bed without a care in the world."

"Unless they'd like taking pain-killers every day and being unable to sleep properly, I'd have to disagree." Alan countered, resting his head and arms on the cool steel table. He wasn't the only one who shared the thought as he could have sworn he heard someone else who was wounded yell at the guns as if they would stop firing if he shouted loud enough. It sounded almost like what a sleep-deprived Iori would do.

"Regardless, I got the luxury of watching my section's gunners decimate Titans and entrenched positions. It's a bit dark for me to say this, but it was rather relaxing watching one of humanity's most advanced creations unable to do anything." Seeing Alan's eyes slowly close, Vanessa took the opportunity to rest a hand on his head, "What, not good enough of a story for you?"

"I wasn't lying when I said 'trouble sleeping'." Came Alan's answer, his eyes refusing to open up and look at the woman asking.

"Then enjoy the moments of peace we have. Although I know you're eager to get out there again, you always do more than enough to warrant rest for yourself like always." As if Alan's internal wishes were heard, the ship's alarm blared through its interior, disrupting conversations and sleep one and the same. He grabbed Vanessa's wrist and gently set it aside.

"I'm sorry to say," He began, eyes opening to see a saddened face in front of him, "But rest is not a luxury I am allowed to afford." Alan picked himself up from the table's bench turning to run to his room before Vanessa spoke up.

"Just... Come back on your own two feet this time." She said.

"Aye, Lieutenant."

~ (-) ~

After fully equipping his usual armor and gear, on a stand next to his bed was his trusted Hammond 2011 freshly returned from the clutches of Katherine after their talk. She had proven to be a stubborn opponent as she would not let it go until their chat was up to her standards but he managed somehow. After shoving the gun into its home strapped to the man's leg, Alan took a look at his helmet. The grey and white paint that had marked it as a Pilot of the I.M.C. was worn out and the scratch from Mannes's knife had made its mark clear. Just like most of his equipment, it had served with him since the beginning. Putting on the helmet, Alan made his exit and sprinted down the hall with a new vigor he hadn't felt since before his first deployment on Naga. With this new-found energy the Pilot boarded his assigned dropship with just enough time to spare. The other Pilot along for the ride with him was Z and a squad of grunts.

"Where we being dumped this time, sir?" Shouted a grunt to his commanding officer.

"Dagon, a moon covered in a shallow ocean. Very shallow actually."

"So, what we're going for a swim?"

"Not quite!"

"Cut the chatter!" The pilots of the ship said, jumping the ship into the atmosphere of Dagon along with dozens of other Goblins beside him. From the view of the window it looked like those who chose the drop pods over a ship had already engaged the Militia in the... water? Everywhere Alan and the passengers looked there seemed to be not a single island in sight with the only exception being the artificial platform of steel and concrete built by the I.M.C. and was now occupied by the Militia. The ocean was light greenish-blue in color with a crystal-clear view of the ocean's floor though that wasn't saying much as it was shallow in the first place.

"And they said Naga was a 'water reserve'." Commented a grunt, "Why isn't this-" His sentence was cut off when the doors opened. A wave of hot and humid wind hit the group of six in full force. Alan had stumbled back by the sting of salty air that at first irritated his eyes and stung his nostrils and throat for his first breaths on the planet, from the looks of things the others held a similar reaction only with a series of extra coughs and curses from the grunts.

A captain brought the others to attention, "Command wants this facility captured in the next two hours, let's not let the other ships in the fleet wait on us!" He and the other grunts piled out of the ship first already making a charge toward the facility. The two Pilots were last to leave, the ship finally able to lift into the air and jumped out of sight in a blink of an eye. Alan and Z gave one another a 'good luck' before running into the fray and safety of the facility's walls. Anything was better than standing out in the open and getting shot, plus anyone who was unfortunate enough to live with an open wound on this moon must be feeling agony with all the salt water and even the air making it sting a whole lot more.

Once he had made a mad dash to the wall, Alan found himself surrounded by fellow grunts and another Pilot, the only thing protecting them were the steep inclines that would have exposed the Militia defenders to gunfire. "I sincerely hope these boots are water resistant, don't think I can take a whole campaign constantly in this water!" A grunt beside him complained. Alan and the others prepared to scale the wall, the grunts had one grapping hook per squad while the Pilots would have to rely on their agility and climbing skills. At the sound of the first grappling hook shot, the assault began. The grunts were over watched by their protective squadmates, ensuring that no terrorist got brave enough to stick their head over the wall. Alan and the other Pilots two began their run, the former drawing his knife before stepping away from the wall only to charge right at it and run just a few steps up the wall and then using his jump-kit to push him higher. Alan found himself a few inches in the air above a Militia soldier that had fallen back in surprise, everything to him slowed to a crawl with the Pilot feeling himself tighten his grip on the knife that he brought down on the unfortunate soldier. The other Pilots too had made their first kills, finding themselves surrounded by rifles. It was only seconds later the wave of friendly grunts reached the top to aid their elite allies. One by one the Militia began to fall, many more taking refuge in the facility's interior so that they may set up a formidable defense. Alan drew his pistol, killing two Militia troops at his side before taking his knife and slashing another's throat. Now with both weapons in hand, the Pilot had hopped on a rail and used it as a jumping point to trail across a rusted pipe. His eyes were set on a heavily armored grunt equipped with a Spitfire mounting his weapon on a pile of sandbags above. Alan knew just how devastating the weapon was with such a clear line of sight on his comrades below, and before the terrorist could get his sights ready the Pilot slammed his fist into his armored helmet which in turn forced the grunt into the concrete wall. Fighting through the blunt pain in his hand, Alan had blocked an incoming punch with his right hand stabbed his knife the other man's forearm. He then kicked the grunt back expecting to find himself shooting into him but his gun was empty. Once more he would have to fight off a knife but seeing as the grunt was already weighed down by the armor there wasn't too much of a threat from the Militia. The Pilot had taken a hit but gave two back in return, finishing with a shove of his shoulder to push the grunt down. Behind him he heard a door open and from the corner of his eye he spotted the uniforms of two Militia grunts. Alan dived for the Spitfire, preferring it and bringing to bare on the two Militia and, in the same trigger pull, spun to empty whatever was left of its magazine into the armored grunt.

Alan threw down the weapon to catch his breath. He still had the hang of it even after almost two weeks of nothing, not even training in the sim. Though it may have been something drilled into him since training, this was not something one could remember by muscle memory so easily. The man reloaded his pistol, picked up his knife that the armored grunt had carelessly tossed to the side, and walked over to kick up an R-101c. Only he had failed the first time which made him look around and hope no one he knew was watching. He rushed inside and immediately came across two outdated Spectres, his rifle made quick work of one but the Pilot had plans for the other. He managed to circle behind it and after pushing a button on his knife Alan stabbed a port that was on the back of its head. Three orange rings slowly started filling up with blue as the three numbers in the center finally locked on to a successful set and as soon as it was pulled out, the Spectre belonged to him and by extension the I.M.C.'s service once again.

Already the machine had open fired on a pair of grunts investigating the sound of gunfire, taking both down with a spray from its R-97. After a reload the Spectre began following its new leader downstairs. Alan had caught most of the Militia off guard but there were a few who had at the very least noticed him but each were taken care of by the Pilot's new companion. He found himself facing a long hallway with I.M.C. forces on the other side taking shots whenever they could but the space between both them and the Militia resistance was an empty gap of no-man's land. Alan grabbed the shoulder of a grunt firing at his comrades, pulling him down to the floor and stabbing him. To his left another grunt was about to fire on the Pilot but had his arm grabbed by the Spectre who snapped the terrorist's arm then used the man as a shield to absorb incoming fire from around the corner. Ruthless machines indeed but there was no denying their effectiveness even if it was an older model. Friendly soldiers made the push up to rally behind the Pilot and the Spectre while Alan unpinned one of his grenades and rolled it just beyond the crates and makeshift barriers the Militia were using as cover.

The sound of a revolver rang out, the bullet destroying the Spectre in a single shot and in the open was a Militia Pilot with a squad of grunts behind him. Alan was slightly worried about facing off against another Pilot, more so the soldiers behind him if anything. If they had a clear shot on him then they would no doubt take it and being forced into tight quarters didn't allow for the best of strategies when taking on a trained Pilot. Nevertheless, the two ran head on towards each other, the Militia Pilot also recognized the situation with the two sides' infantry waiting for a clear line of fire on their respective enemies.

The Militia Pilot was the first to make a hit, using the butt of his revolver to strike Alan's arm. Just like its ammo the weapon too was a heavy hitter for its size, but such a move wouldn't deter the Pilot from his duel. Drawing his knife once again Alan tried swiping at his foe but each attack was dodged with quick reflexes. The other man, now a few steps away from Alan, took aim with his revolver. The I.M.C. Pilot leapt to grab his wrist, his left ear letting out a pained ringing when the gun went off next to his head. Alan stabbed him twice in the stomach, his left-hand grabbing and pulling the pins of the Militia Pilot's two grenades. Finally, with a forceful kick that knocked both the enemy Pilot back toward his allies and Alan stumbling to fall on his back at the feet of his comrades, the I.M.C. troops watched the grenades go off with a puff of red that killed three of the terrorists including the enemy Pilot. The allied soldiers moved in to kill the last two enemies who survived. The familiar voice of Edgar caught Alan's attention, "Bloody hell that was messy, Sir." he said, stretching out a hand to pick the Pilot up.

"Wait, I thought he'd still be out of action." Scott piped up from the other three who watched the rest of the corridor. Alan took the man's hand, standing up and brushing himself off.

"Was just let out not too long ago," Alan replied, "I thought you were part of a different squad?"

"We are, but rotations, injuries, and losses forced squads to merge whenever needed." Edgar said, "That and Tom still has roughly three weeks left on his arm so he's stuck back home!" Behind him Scott and the other two grunts mentioned how their fellow soldier was missing out. "This should be the last of our section of the facility. All that's left is for the others to finish up and resupply."

"Uh, Sir," One of the other grunts started, looking over a console and raising the volume on a receiver, "We've got a transmission coming in."

"What, they like this specific spot for a reason?" Remarked Edgar.

"It's broadcasted to all channels."

He was right, seconds later Alan's helmet began picking up a transmission from a man with a voice that sounded like its owner had a fair share of drinking over the years.

"This goes out to a very specific Pilot, a member of the I.M.C. we call a 'hound', I know you're out there somewhere slaughtering our friends and family so know this: I'll be waiting for the day we meet and when we do, I will avenge all of those who you murdered. No matter where you are, no matter how long it takes, I will see you die on this moon." The man on the other end said. The squad of grunts looked at Alan for an answer and though he could make an educated guess about who he was referring to, the Pilot chose to remain silent.

* * *

 **A.N.: Nothing to report. At least I don't think so?**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	9. Chapter 09: Dive Into the Shallows

"Dive Into the Shallows

The Goblin dropship was just one out of half a dozen that filled the skies. All flying in a V-formation supported by a few Phantoms the I.M.C. fleet in orbit could spare. The sun that once shined bright overhead disappeared over the salty horizon and had been replaced by the moon's parent above: Kraken. The swirling and stormy giant reflected what little light it could onto the moon's surface but thankfully such a weak source of light did little to expose the fleet of transports and fighters to enemy eyes. However, without a bright body to reflect light, the infinite ocean was dark and almost invisible save for the subtle ripples and waves that gave it away.

"They don't call this a 'shallow ocean' for nothing then, eh?" A grunt said trying to spot the water below from his seat. The heavy aroma of salt still overwhelmed the troops of the I.M.C. but after sacrificing what little they had left of their sense of smell it would seem that the many grunts and Pilots had grown used to it by now. To make strategies even more limited was the fact that, even if it was a vast ocean mostly knee-deep at best, any ground support would not be welcomed on the moon as any and every heavy step from a Titan or weight from any ground vehicle would disturb the soft ground underneath the water and tip it over. For a Titan it seemed unlikely that it could be on its back like a defenseless turtle but it wasn't hard to see why a valuable mech was opted to stay out of combat.

"Yeah, welcome to the largest sea-salt mine in the sector, it burns your nose, it burns your throat, it burns your eyes, but the Militia want to keep it so we're not going to let them have it!" Another man shouted triumphantly. The terrorists had already done so much to bring devastation and bloodshed to humanity, no one knew for sure why they kept on killing and plundering more and more.

"So, are all we going to do is island hop from one facility to the next?" A grunt asked.

"That's the plan, there isn't much else on this salty rock. Everything of use was man-made." The squad's leader explained. Aside from the miniature islands that had salt for sand, there wasn't anything on this moon that could even be used naturally. Even the toughest of life found here were either restricted to the tiny bastions of freshwater cut off by the rare rings of dirt and mud or were microscopic to begin with, "Next stop is a supply depot fit with plenty of landing pads and storage containers full of stuff."

"Probably salt." Muttered a third grunt.

"Probably full of weapons and Titan parts." The Captain corrected, "I know this place is borderline useless to human life but these are _terrorists_ , they'll just as easily use civilians as human shields if needed. I don't think they'll consider shipping containers full of 'salt' in any merciful light. Think of it like a beach that hurts to stay around, and that there's no sand."

"Yeah, and where the hell to I put my towel-" Started a grunt before getting interrupted.

"Thirty seconds 'till contact!" Shouted the ship's pilot, "First wave prepare to jump!"

The captain unhooked his straps and walked toward the back exit of the ship, Alan and Katherine both stood in unison ready for the Captain to pull the lever, "Alright, Pilots, you know the drill: Step one: Clip the wings, step two: Silence the signals, step three: kill every terrorist you come across. The second wave will join you in half an hour," The man pulled the lever, the exit ramp behind him slowly lowering, "Good luck!" With that the two were off diving straight toward the facility.

The air rushed past Alan with the ever-present scent of salt. Why anyone thought jumping out of a ship at this altitude was a good idea was unclear, but the Pilot's focus now was on surviving the fall first. Suddenly he felt his companion latch onto him with a hug during their freefall, "Kath, what the hell are you doing?" Alan exclaimed.

"My, you're a feisty one." She said, laughing at Alan's comment on 'wanting not to smear against the floor' while the two spun in the air, "Just enjoy it while it lasts, remember: Jets then slide! I'll meet you on the ground!" She finished, letting go of the man and diving toward an outdated Crow that was starting to take off. Alan focused on where he would have to go, a container had been left suspended in air thanks to the crane being unmanned at the time so that was his first and only option he would need to go with. Without any more time to think, Alan had just missed splatting across the container and used his gloved hand to slow himself down even if with a small bit of friction helping him. He then kicked off the container's edge and made glide for another high container that was stacked upon others before finally sliding across a third one than led toward the edge of the platform. Behind him he heard the Crow Katherine headed toward crash down with a puff of smoke and an explosion from the impact, but that was the least of his concerns as the Pilot was running out of space to slow himself down. Alan flipped to his stomach just in time as he ran out of room and grabbed onto the edge of the crate. Looking down he could barely make out the water beneath him before he felt a little sick and dizzy from vertigo.

"Ok," Alan uttered out, looking back up to catch his breath, "Too high." Either he fell and hoped it was deep enough to cushion his fall or it would break his legs; neither choice was good enough for him so he instead went with option 'C'. Alan carefully pulled himself up with his arms and jump-kit, looking at the top of the crate to see the scars of his sliding; good thing his armor and boots took most of the friction, he couldn't imagine what it would have done to him without it.

Alarms started ringing throughout the depot, spotlights shining upon every piece of darkness down on the landing platforms. One by one the lights started to flicker and go out with the sound of bullets echoing against the containers and crates leaving only the usual nightly lights both artificial and from the stars above for both friend and foe alike to see the landing-zone-turned-battlefield. Other Pilots had already started without him so it would seem so, drawing his pistol, Alan made a dash to cover and out of sight from a passing patrol. They were already responding to the sight of the crash and sounds of battle so now was as good as time as ever to join the fray. After they passed, the man left the safety of his cover to open fire on the grunts. While Alan walked forward, two of them went down without realizing what had brought them to this fate and a third turned to be shot to the ground. The last one felt the grasp of a hand around his neck and a gun firing twice into his gut. The Militia soldier dropped to his knees and Alan took aim at the terrorist's head and fired his last bullet, reloading only to holster his weapon after words and pick up a rifle as was tradition. Another dropship exploded in a ball of fire and smoke, apparently Alan's fellow Pilots had already started taking care of the first part of the operation, but still there were two more ships to take care of and he wasn't exactly sure if the communications had been cut yet.

Alan made a dash across the crates and onto one of the landing platforms. The ship's unlucky guards who were still tasked with watching over the vessel were easily taken care of by the rifle and once inside Alan stabbed his knife into one of the data-ports. The three rings took longer than usual but the man had plenty of time to spare. Once the last number clicked in place the ships engines and shield generator began kicking into overdrive just as a grenade landed at Alan's feet. Yanking his knife out of the port and legging it to the exit, Alan was tackled off the landing pad with and beside him was an explosion from the ship. Alan skid across the concrete below. He could feel the intense heat from the wreckage and crackling fire, but after feeling a person's weight on top of him and remembering what happened he instinctively tried to pull his pistol at the ready only for a hand to grab and pin each of his wrists. "Hey, hey!" Katherine began, snapping Alan out of his adrenaline rush. "Easy there, it's just me."

"What are you doing?"

"Two Pilots are on that roof," She began pointing in the direction of the main building, "One with a D.M.R. and another with a Mag Launcher. Second wave's coming in ten minutes, think you can beat me to them?"

"I just recovered I don't think-"

"Sounds like a 'Yes', also don't get caught up in another fight else I may have to fight them all alone." She interrupted, ending the sentence with an artificial tone of sadness. "See you at the top!" She finished before climbing over their protective crate and running off.

"When we get back I'll-!" Alan shouted, waving his fist in the air before giving up and following after her, "Urgh!" He growled, climbing over and sliding under the trail of a D.M.R.'s bullet. Alan pulled a pin on one of his grenades, dropping it on a squad of terrorists below him that shouted in panic before it went off seconds later. The sniper taking shots at them certainly wasn't as good as Sasha but they sure knew how to fire it one round after the other. He caught the side of Katherine who ran along with him.

"I thought," She panted, "You were 'recovering'?"

"Someone," Alan replied, keeping his breath at a pace, "Enjoys pushing me."

"You said it," Katherine retorted, literally shoving her friend off of the crate. Alan, though surprised, managed to grab a hold of a cable that ran right toward the opposite end of the roof. Using his jump-kit's jets to propel himself forward, the Pilot unhooked another grenade and tossed it at the pair of Militia Pilots taking aim at him. Alarmed by the explosive, the sniper dropped his aim to kick the grenade off the ledge and explode harmlessly below the roof.

Alan had landed on the roof on his knee and one hand with his knife in the other hand while in the distance the fourth dropship exploded. Opposite of him, past the Militia Pilots, was Katherine in a similar stance as his own. The terrorists knew full well that explosives and long-range weapons weren't of any use here anymore. The four could have easily drawn their pistols and gunned each other down, but no one dared make the first move to break their silent agreement. Alan went for the sniper grenadier woman while Katherine charged the other man whom dropped his sniper. The woman Alan went for dropped her weapon too, holding her arms open as to take the brunt of the charge. After the two clashed Alan's foes swung her foot around his and threw him to the ground. He put his foot up and kicked the woman's stomach which threw her back toward the edge but her kit saved her from falling off the edge. Katherine's luck wasn't any better, she had the agility and speed but couldn't get through the man's defensive guard and steady feet which left them in a staring contest to see who would break first. Alan jumped to his feet, ready for another round which the woman he was fighting was more than happy to oblige by drawing a knife of her own. She went to stab the I.M.C. Pilot but had her arm grabbed by Alan who then felt a knee-pad meet his chest, but with a quick move managed to stab her in the thigh. Swearing and yelping in pain, the Militia Pilot threw Alan toward the center of the pairs, Katherine and his's back meeting with a thud. The two looked at each other and after quietly agreeing to switch opponents, twisted around one another to fight their new targets. Alan slammed a clenched fist into the Militia man's would be cheek were it not for his helmet while Katherine used her agile nature in combination with the other woman's injury to get the advantage on her.

Alan went for a stab but just missed the mark, the Militia Pilot punching him in the back. Turning the knife back around he ducked underneath another of his foe's punches and stabbed him through the stomach. The I.M.C. Pilot then grabbed the wounded man's shoulder and pulled him to the ground before stabbing him through the helmet's visor with an audible crack. Looking to Katherine, Alan watched her break the other woman's arm before slashing her across the throat. Falling to her knees, his fellow Pilot granted the Militia woman a merciful death in the form of a final stab through the heart and a twist of her wrist. Both of the Pilots fell with their backs to the ground and their heads missing a collision between themselves. "Don't do that to me again." Alan said between breaths. "And sure, as hell don't push me off like that."

"Oh," Katherine began, "But it was fun." She threw her arm in the air, giving a thumb's up to the passing Phantoms and Goblins that deployed I.M.C. troops, "Come on, lighten up a little will ya'?"

"I have nearly died more times in the last two months than I have my entire career." Alan started to complain, "I'd rather not nearly bite the bullet every other week." He said, staring up at the stars above before turning his head to Katherine.

"Yet you always find a way to pull through and come home," Her gaze remained on the stars above, "That's what I like about you." She chuckled, "Never change Alan, never change."

* * *

 **A.N.: Chapter 09 delivered.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	10. Chapter 10: The Heart of Hatred

"The Heart of Hatred"

"This all seems a bit too easy if you ask me," An I.M.C. grunt said, "It's like the Militia don't even want to put up a fight." The now routine missions of cleaning out terrorist holdings had grown monotonous in less than a week's time around Dagon. Of course, in a strategic sense it was a great thing to happen in war as the minimal losses kept command happy and the troops' morale high, but such 'safe' battles made I.M.C. forces a bit too relaxed. One major example came from the crew of the _Arcadia_ who, due to their laxed state, had reported losing over half of their deployed forces in a single battle at a sight close to the equator; a battle that was still ongoing. Funnily enough it would be the Pilots and troops of the _Solaris_ who were currently en route to back them up and if the carelessness of the stranded forces spread to other ships then the next real battle would be their last.

"I don't know about you but I could fight these battles every day." Another grunt said, "Besides, the _Arcadia_ practically _begged_ for help!" He laughed.

Katherine, sitting opposite of Alan, hummed to herself while watching the bright sun's rays start to slowly distance themselves favor the grey clouds and drops of salty rain. "Dammit, and here I was thinking it be a clear day!" She yelled over the others' chatter.

"What can't handle a little rain?" Alan asked.

"Well the salt is a bi-"

"Twenty seconds out from Point Rain," The pilot called out, interrupting the woman, "Stand by for hot-zone deployment!" Someone else muttered how fitting the name was before the squad checked their gear one last time. Unstrapping themselves from their seats the passengers of the Goblin transport had readied themselves on every exit. The Pilots prepared to jump from the back, and two grunts on each side door. This was just another day on the job for them.

Alan and Katherine landed boots first in the water and now pouring rain, drawing their respective weapons while the dropships started to take fire upon its escape. From the sound of things, it appeared as if the Militia banked their fortification on heavy weapons seeing as they already fended off one wave of I.M.C. forces which should have been more than enough to deal with such a small garrison. "Don't try anything to reckless, we're here to support our troops not join the bodies." Alan noted to Katherine who was already itching to get into the fight.

"Gotcha'!" She replied, "But no need to worry about me, you can hardly keep up when I get going."

"Don't push it."

"Bet ya' I'll get a higher count. Terms back home!" She yelled, sprinting toward the giant concrete building that was a research center. Alan could only chase after her while the grunts and additional forces had to scale the walls and stairs once again. The interior was too heavily fortified to consider a deployment zone, but being surrounded by high walls certainly didn't help Militia defenders much. The two Pilots had climbed over the walls just fine and found themselves on a pretty barren roof. Grunts soon followed packing demolition charges to burst through the ceiling. Without much cover the best most of the soldiers could do was stand back, cover their eyes, and shield their heads.

"Detonating!" A demolition expert shouted to the troops with them. He clicked a button on the detonator in hand and with an explosion followed by a rumble and smoke, a hole had been made. The Pilots were first to dive into the chaos that was supposed to be a section of the 'Munitions Testing' and armory. Both Alan and Katherine rook a few Militia grunts by surprise before multiple squads started to surround them however, additional troops started rappelling through the hole in the roof via cables all while firing their weapons haphazardly into their unsuspecting enemies. The two Pilots charged the Militia with guns in hand, Alan in particular always picking up a new rifle every so often as to not find himself without ammo. Katherine just sprayed her weapon which had more than enough per magazine to keep the terrified grunts from returning in kind, eventually right over their heads to take free shots. Over the few minutes of non-stop gunfire and dying gasps the R&D for weapons and the like had been secured by the small task force.

"Alpha, find and regroup with Iota-6. Their last transmission was in Hydroponics so let's get a move on it!" Shouted the Captain to his subordinates.

"Gamma Team, follow that Pilot and support him however you can!" Another squad leader ordered, pointing to Alan.

"Any other warning you want to give Alan?" Katherine asked playfully, walking away from the eight bodies on her side and up to the taller man.

"We're the only Pilots _Solaris_ was able to provide with permission from the Vice Admiral. I don't expect every deployed Pilot from the _Arcadia_ to be dead but don't expect them to come save you; so, watch your six and keep your eyes peeled for cloaked hostiles." The man warned as Gamma Team had caught up to him.

"You are always so serious, still though, catch you later then!" She said before joining Alpha and their task to get to Hydroponics.

With Alan and his team on a 'search and destroy' mission, there wasn't a specific objective to take and hold which made their next course of action the most difficult: choosing where to go first. They had to start somewhere so after deciding on the containment cells first the group began their crusade against the terrorist holdouts. Alan and the squad found themselves at the end of a long narrow corridor fit with an observation window on their right that stretched from one end to the other. A number of lights were already destroyed while bullet casings and impact marks littered the floor and covered walls indicated a previous battle, but other than that and the sound of gunfire faintly echoing throughout the halls there hadn't been a single sign of life. The rain pattered against the window which put the I.M.C. squad on edge as they travelled down the coverless hall. Alan would have figured the Militia would be all over the place, spread out and defending it until their last breath. Alan was about to comment on how relatively quiet it was until a voice boomed from around the corner.

"R&D just went dark, Captain Wolfe is pissed, and-" A Militia grunt said just as the two groups ran into each other. For a brief moment there was peace, neither side so much as said another word even if only due to surprise. It was the one of the Militia that moved first.

"Enemy Pilot, an enemy Pilot!" One of the terrorists yelled, pulling up his weapon only to shot down by Alan. Another was killed by one of the other I.M.C. grunts while the last two ducked behind the corner again.

"Captain, we have another enemy Pilot, requesting-" Before the other man could get another word out, the two surviving Militia were killed by the friendly grunts.

"Sir, our eyes in the sky are reporting a Titan at the testing fields!" The squad leader reported, his team taking point and watching the now secured corridor, "It's tearing our people and Spectres apart!"

"A Titan?" Alan questioned, sure that he misheard. The Militia, as desperate as they were for an edge in the fight, would never waste a valuable Titan on such an unstable place such as Dagon. Perhaps they were getting desperate again.

"Affirmative, it's fortified itself on the testing grounds and our Phantoms can't get a clear shot on it without being shot down." The squad leader confirmed. Of course, there would be a problem like this, it was just Alan's luck to run into yet another Titan fight on foot. Still, it was what he was trained for and on the bright side it would make another story or two.

"Continue to the containment cells, I'll see what I can do."

"Roger sir, best of luck to ya'."

The Pilot made his run toward the Testing Grounds, leaving the squad behind to finish their original job. The facility was vast so Alan wasn't too surprised that there was such a place made for Titans even on this useless moon. He had not run into any resistance yet and still found it curious to him but from what he could tell- thanks to the enemy squad they ran into- the Militia grouped up in defendable locations throughout the facility. Clever at keeping the firepower high but ultimately it left the terrorists to be starved out or killed in a bunch at once. What mattered now was dealing with the Militia Pilot, he was likely the only one left alive as the rest either died in the fighting; not that the holdouts had many Pilots still around to begin with.

Following the signs and directions still readable, Alan eventually found himself at the observation deck above the Titan Testing Grounds. It had plenty of I.M.C. bodies still on the ground, fresh ones at that. The squad probably tried to find a way to forcibly shut down the Titan to get a chance at killing the Pilot however slim it may have been. Apparently, the Militia had been aware of this fact too seeing as the glass was non-existent save a few shards and the consoles had been completely demolished by explosives and heavy caliber guns. As expected the field itself was covered in a thin layer of water but had plenty of mock buildings serving as terrain and cover for training purposes. Though there were two turrets on the field, only one was still useful once it could come online. It was his best chance at destroying the Titan without trouble so he went for it.

Alan dropped from the broken window and landed on the ground below with a splash. The Titan at the center of the training grounds looked to be a regular Atlas-class with a Triple-Threat launcher. Worrying enough with the explosives but it meant Alan had a chance to attack it head on assuming he wasn't crushed by its fist in the process. Either way it was busy blowing chunks out of the facility which gave the I.M.C. Pilot plenty of time run to the Turret. After the quick sprint and short climb to the top of the ruined building, the Pilot took his data-knife and stabbed it into the Turret's port, watching his fancy knife do all the computer work typical of a coder or hacker. Only the best of the best for the best, that's the I.M.C. for you. It didn't take long for the Turret to come back online and immediately begin raining down shells on the Atlas. Making his escape, Alan had dropped to the watery floor and jumped right back up to a wall which he ran across. He could see the Atlas shield itself with its left arm as best it could but it wasn't enough to thwart the incoming damage. The Titan launched its grenades at the Turret, giving Alan ample opportunity to scale the back of the giant mech. He could feel the vibrations of the bullets impacting against the Titan and saw bits of armor plating shed like dead skin but eventually the explosive grenades proved too much for the already wounded Turret to handle. Pulling off the protective hatch, Alan emptied his rifle into the Titan's interior, eventually stunning it to the point of being doomed. The I.M.C. Pilot jumped to the front and kicked off its torso, landing right back into the water as the Titan fell to the ground with a splash following it. That guy from the ship was right this was getting a little too easy-

The top hatch ejected and a Militia Pilot came flying at Alan. The enemy Pilot purposely had his Titan fall to get a shot like this with plenty of time to spare. Alan fell to his back, watching the ejecting Pilot zoom over him and skid to a halt in the shallow water, "Out of my way." He said with a rough voice, drawing his pistol, Alan did the same only he fired first and shot the gun out of the man's hands. The Militia Pilot swore, grabbing his hand before pulling his knife and throwing it in return, slicing Alan across the back of his hand which caused him to drop his pistol as well. "Guess I'll just add you to the list until I find Stassov, you wouldn't know him, would you?" He said calmly.

"Depends who's asking." Alan replied.

"Erik Wolfe, tell 'em he has to pay for the Washington. That I'll kill him when I find him."

"Well," Alan stretched out his arms, "Here I am."

"You..." 'Erik' started, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes after taking off his helmet while Alan nodded to confirm it, "You god damn murderer!" He yelled, charging toward Alan whom readied himself in a guard stance. The I.M.C. Pilot swung his right fist into the other man's side, but the Militia Pilot tackled him to the ground, hands around his neck. Alan had a hand on clawing at the left side of Erik's face while his other grabbed the man's wrist just barely giving him enough time to breath. "You fight for money, I fight for vengeance." He growled.

"That- Makes-" Alan choked out, grabbing his knife and stabbing the Militia Pilot in the ribs causing Erik to yelp in pain before jumping off of the Pilot and grabbed his bleeding side, "Two of us." He gasped, taking the chance to catch his breath.

"You wouldn't know pain, Hound. You wouldn't know what it's like to see everything you care about stolen from you."

"I beg to differ, terrorist." Alan said, grabbing an incoming punch and throwing it to the side. Alan sliced across the other man's shoulder, going for a stab to the back but had his wrist grabbed and his knife dropped to the shallow water at their feet. The I.M.C. Pilot kneed his opponent in the stomach, kicking him to his back before picking up his knife again. He lunged at the terrorist but Erik had dived out of the way and rolled behind Alan, grabbing his own knife from the ground as well.

"You destroyed a ship with civilians on board, yet _I'm_ the terrorist?" Erik questioned, grabbing Alan's attack and punching him in the jaw. Thankfully his helmet saved it from dislocating but it was still a painful hit to take. "That's for my wife." He said slamming his fist into Alan's tightened stomach, "That's for my daughter, and this," He raised the knife overhead, "Is just for me." Alan took the opening and stabbed the man in the gut, picking himself up and grabbing the other man's armed hand before it could drop down on him.

"That's for my mother." Alan spat with venom in his voice, the anger and pain of the past now spilling out. He pulled the knife out to stab the man's stomach again, "My father," He pulled the knife again, this time stabbing the Militia Pilot through the throat, "And all of those killed in the Militia's bombing campaigns." Gurgling on his blood and falling back into the salty water that no doubt made the pain sting, the Militia could do nothing but look at Alan as if his intense gaze alone could kill him. "The Militia isn't innocent," Alan began, pulling his knife from the man's throat, "And until they've paid for them in blood I will kill them wherever I find them." Looking down on the body, Alan found the man had already died midway through his declaration. He wiped the blood of his knife off in the salted water and found his Hammond lying not too far from where they were. The Pilot could tell the fight put him in a bad mood and as far as he could tell there was only one way to ease his nerves.

* * *

 **A.N.: The milestone of 10, it's not even half way done either.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	11. Chapter 11: Peace of the Mind

"Peace of the Mind"

Stepping off the dropship and onto the hangar floor of the _Solaris_ , Alan ignored the crew that still rushed around to refuel other vessels and start work on repairing the damage inflicted upon them. Of course, Vanessa had waited for him like she always does but being filled with malice toward the terrorist organization they fought was as clear as day to the woman. It wasn't the first-time repressed memories of the past were dug up nor was it Vanessa's first encounter with Alan's more 'volatile' side. She had always been his anchor to reality, whether that was a weakness or strength was irrelevant to the Pilot as either way the woman would constantly sooth his mind from the stress it caused.

"Oi', Alan, did something-" Katherine started to ask with helmet in hand before her eyes met with Vanessa's. Alan paid no mind to either of them, instead he kept trying to put the memories back down but the screams of the dying defied his will, "-Happen..." Katherine finished, her voice wavering after seeing the two.

"It's nothing important Katherine," Vanessa lied, waving a hand to shoo her away, "I'm sure your squadmates are eager to catch up with you." She said with a calm and professional voice that was to be normally expected by officers of all kinds. She took hold of Alan's arm and guided him toward someplace else.

"Well, it looks important if he's in a trance like that." Katherine stated, irritated at being waved away by the black-haired woman. "You don't mind talking about it, right Alan?" She asked the man with both a curious and somewhat concerned expression. He said nothing. Alan could just barely hear the two over the sound of collapsing buildings, shattering glass, and deafening booms that left his ears ringing. His eyes should have fell upon the closest person he had come to know as family and the familiar, warm but dull metal interior of his home ship's corridors and halls, but in its place, he could see nothing but a cloud of dust that engulfed him, bodies of strangers missing pieces of themselves, and thick, crimson rivers that pooled into the burning craters that were once streets and buildings. Never would he have though that such a casual day in his life would end in a life changing crisis, not just for him, but for everyone unfortunate enough to live through the ordeal.

"Listen, now isn't the time to argue. Tell you what, as soon as things," Vanessa paused to look at the dazed Pilot, "'Get better' I'll let him loose. Until then, he'll need time." Katherine begrudgingly accepted her terms, clearly unhappy at Vanessa swooping in and taking control of the situation, but the concern with the friend she knew since training was greater.

Vanessa felt eyes fixed on her back but paid no mind. No matter what how long Katherine may have spent with Alan it could not compare to the two decade long familial bond she had, even if the two weren't related by blood. Walking the man to his quarters, the woman felt a little tremble from Alan's hand much the same as it had done all those years ago. Just like him, she too remembered such a bitter memory, the only difference being that she finally come to accept and live with the event's mark. She remembered the old times, the final years of the Titan Wars and how vicious the Militia was back then and even to this day. Vanessa hated them for sure, but instead of it being the seething hatred of revenge like Alan, the woman despised their selfish motives, underhanded tactics, and willingness to use literal criminals to bolster their ranks. When the terrorist organization had finally been pushed out of the core worlds by joint I.M.C. and Earth's military forces the citizens of the core let a breath of relief that the pillaging, bombings, and massacres came to an end. It was a shame the latter of the two allied forces weren't on the frontier helping secure peace, but Earth and her close colonies needed to be protected from pirates and other malicious forces so not much could be done.

She settled Alan down on his bed, its once neat covers now being disheveled from the owner's impact. The room was quiet, the only thing making noise being the rush of cool air from the vents. It was stale, it was old, but it was a place the man called home. It wasn't bright nor the cleanest, but Vanessa expected no less from Alan. She started with removing Alan's helmet, the man's eyes darting around wilding trying to make sense of things which was a start to snap him out of it but only time could truly tell. His breathing had become quickened while Vanessa set the helmet down on a nearby dresser, she couldn't imagine the haunting image of him finding his family still at his feet. Vanessa wasn't an expert on the mind, she never claimed to be, but after the first few times this happened she found it best to keep him away from others excluding herself and her own parents.

Out of the corner of her vision, Vanessa saw Alan sit up. Before being able to let out a word he immediately threw a fist at the steel wall remembering where he was with a light yell and grabbing his fingers. "F-" Vanessa too the chance to grab his mouth with one hand and pull his head back with the other. It was this short moment of reality she was waiting for, instead of actively doing something about his trip with his memories she opted to hook him out of it the moment she saw Alan's consciousness escape the confines of the past. His quick breathing began to steady and his once wide brown eyes relaxed when they fell upon Vanessa's face.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, letting her hand go and allowing him to speak.

"I-I-Where are we? Where's that terrorist-" Alan said heatedly and began to sit up.

"We're back home," She said loudly to cut off the Pilot and pulled his head back down to her lap this time, "And you aren't going anywhere. Did someone dig up old wounds?"

"No, I... Kind of. It was an enemy Pilot."

"How many times have I had to tell you to not dwell on the past?"

"Plenty of times. It just sort of... came up." Alan admitted, one of his hands reaching to scratch the side of his head. Vanessa noticed the cut across his right hand, grabbing his wrist and inspecting the light wound.

"Where'd you get this?" Vanessa asked, removing the glove and opening one of the drawers beside the bed. She had kept a roll of bandages there after she kept finding Alan being too reluctant to visit the infirmary. 'It's just a scratch' he would claim, 'It's not bad at all', but she wouldn't have it. Leaving a wound exposed to the air was never a good idea, he should have known that already.

"Knife fight I guess? Technically it was thrown at me..." Alan began to explain, holding up his hand so that the woman with him could wrap it up.

"Why do you always put yourself in these situations," She muttered, listing off the extensive mental list of weapons that he encountered, "Missiles, cannons, knives, what's next? A nuke?"

"It's just a part of the job description." Alan replied, now with a smile across his face, "Besides, I can't die without your permission, now can I?"

"You're damn right, now up, my breaks almost over and I've yet to have my drink." Vanessa ordered.

With that the two began their trip back toward the mess-hall where the numbers started to swell since the battle for the moon below had recently been retaken from the grips of the Militia. There were losses, many of them no doubt but with the never-ending series of victories arriving one after the other the people and crew of the fleet had not felt this bright since before the Militia started making a comeback. At their regular table was another lonesome Pilot, Katherine to be specific, who didn't look all too pleased.

"Looks like you should go take our seats before the rest of the crowd starts pouring in." Vanessa noted, wandering off to fetch a cup for herself. Alan wandered over to the angry-looking Pilot, ready for her to snap at him the moment he sat down across from her and as expected, she did.

"Ok, listen up Alan, I want to know what happened down on that moon. You've been silent since the ride back here and I've a feeling you're not telling me something." She demanded, standing over the table with a knee on it just to jam her finger to his chest.

"That's uh, a strong demand you have there."

"Don't try to talk your way out of this. We've known each other since the start of our Pilot certification training and yet there are still secrets I haven't found yet?"

"It's a pit personal Kath, anyways where's everyone else?" Alan asked in a vain attempt to deflect the question and change the subject to something else. It was starting to get a little hot, and not just because he was still in full armor and uniform, the interrogation didn't help and the woman across from him, inching closer, held an intense stare to get him to crack under the pressure.

"I thought we were-"

"Yeah, where is everyone else?" Vanessa interrupted, taking a seat next to Alan and setting her drink on the table. Katherine backed down from her questioning, sighing in defeat before responding to the new arrival's curiosity.

"They're mopping up whatever's left of the Militia, they should be here any minute now." After Katherine had said that, the first of her squad had arrived: Zohn. With a wave of his hand he took a seat next to Katherine whose eyes wandered away from the others with her.

"'Ey, Alan and his handler," Zohn chuckled, "How's the battle been treating the rest of you?" He asked, nudging Katherine from her wandering mind.

"Hey Z, oh just a few scratches here and there." Alan responded, showing his bandaged hand, "What about you and Sasha's deployment, or the others for that matter?"

"Sasha decided to head to her room first, I can only guess for a shower seeing the disgusted look she gave her own salt-water covered uniform. But get this: There was this one guy, not really a Pilot but a Militia Captain with his hands on a Titan went on an on over the radio about how the 'rest of the Frontier will be liberated from I.M.C. oppression'," Zohn mocked, "When I finally met the guy after gunning down plenty of Militia, he opened up his hatch for an introduction or something and then-" He snickered, holding his composure long enough to get the rest of his story out, "Sasha just aimed her rifle and shot 'em." He let out a short laugh, wiping a tear from his eye. "I mean, who does that? I'd understand if it was an honorable duel between two skilled Pilots like normal but this was something else!"

Vanessa had silently listened, taking the occasional drink whenever as to not let it go to waste. The next two were Isaac and the new girl, Eli. The former with a smug grin across his face and confidence with every step he took while the latter followed behind him a little less timid than the first time Alan had met her. "Why is everyone finding us here?" Katherine asked, looking at the growing numbers.

"Well you said you'd be here, so we decided to move for today." Zohn replied, "You're not escaping the rest of us that easily ha!"

"You said Z, not me." Isaac said with a rough voice, he still looked like a train had hit him with the red and baggy eyes- no thanks to the salty air on Dagon- and dark stubble but at least it wasn't as bad as back at the rec room where he could barely move.

"You getting through the day?" Alan asked as the two took their seats.

"I manage," Isaac said with open hands, "After that deployment I'm grabbing a bite and shower then I'm out for the next sixteen hours!"

"Sixteen?" Zohn questioned.

"Look you saw me awake for a week, we nearly took back the whole system in about a month's time, I deserve _something_ today. But how's it going with your partner?" Isaac turned to Alan. Katherine made an irritated grunt across the table.

"We're not-" Alan started.

"We've been fine." Vanessa interrupted with a relaxed grin, taking a drink from her cup.

"As expected of the Cosmonaut and his watchful Angel!" Isaac boasted. Surrounded by familiar faces was a nice change of pace for Alan. While the other three carried on their conversation, Vanessa occasionally making small talk with him, or Katherine butting in whenever she felt like it. It almost reminded him of Vincent and his loud yet approachable personality, Roy and his snarky comments bringing a chuckle or two even if they were stupid, Rose's attempts to keep other's from trying to fight Roy for his remarks, Iori's humble chats with Chris on how the others were being a bit too loud and finally Alan being caught right in the middle. Almost like old times. Almost.

* * *

 **A.N.: Here's 11.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	12. Chapter 12: An Enemy's Mercy

"An Enemy's Mercy"

Medusine, the central hub of the Kraken System. The moon was an arid planet of sorts with small patches of jungle that could be seen from orbit, the rest of its surface being either dry rock or having plant life too insignificant to be noticed. It wasn't just a valuable trade route either, Medusine was also a bottleneck that essentially cut off the system from the rest of the Frontier's worlds; presuming traders, merchants, and other vessels didn't have the fuel, time, or want, to take the long route back from Naga, to outlying worlds, to finally back into the heart of what was the Frontier. The Militia made its fallback to the moon after the Dagon was retaken, they dug themselves in and just waited for the I.M.C. to bury them in the graves they already dug. Despite every other victory achieved, the fleet knew this was to be a grand battle. Larger than the assault on Naga's headquarter.

"This is a familiar sight." Edgar said seeing the three others, Tom, Scott, and Alan, all together in a drop pod again, "How's the arm?" He asked Tom.

"It's fine, haven't seen action since the first drop on Naga and now I'm just itching for a fight with the Militia." Tom replied, grabbing his left arm and clenching the hand into a fist.

"Yeah, they're on their last breath at that!" Commented Scott.

"Then let's not let them take it!" Tom proclaimed, hands on his straps and preparing for the ejection from the ship.

There was a beeping followed by a longer one and 'separation confirmed' from the feminine announcer. The occupants of the pods clenched their teeth and clung to their harnesses as the g-force pushed them into the small seats, it wasn't long before the interior started to get a little warm from entering atmosphere.

"Standby, approaching shock layer. Impacting in three, two, one, mark." The pod's announcer finished, dropping the sealed hatch onto the new world before them. They had landed in the arid landscape just outside one of the larger jungles expected to hold at least one outpost; according to fleet scans at least. Joining them in the deployment on this humid and hot moon was a third of the _Solaris_ 's ground forces, majority of whom were deployed further away in clearings and around the jungle. The orange and brown rocks clashed with the oasis of green and the brown sky above was ugly to look at if seen for too long, it certainly wouldn't make for a resort retreat that's for sure. Two more pods slammed into the ground just seconds after Alan stepped out of the pod and two more squads showed up with one containing a pack of Spectres and the other a full squad of grunts with Anti-Titan weapons 'just in case'.

"Listen up," Edgar exclaimed, "Command doesn't want us to wait around this time, all of us are linking up with the Pilot and finding a Militia base believed to be in the heart of this mess!" The new squad of twelve started their march into the thickening jungle before them.

Alan always hated the terrain, jungle and forests. It may have been a godsend for grunts and other ground forces but for a Pilot it was all but impossible to move around effectively. That's not to say some Pilots Alan knew of were experts on it but he was of no such category. The sprawling trees that never lined up just right, the branches that got in the way, and the endless amounts of cover enemies could use to ambush them, even Pilots were at risk as they could only travel so far flying from tree to tree like a bird.

The boots and metal heels of the squad crunched leaves and twigs, guns pointed outward almost like a porcupine would to defend itself. Except a far deadlier one. Armed with guns. And explosives.

"Sir, the Militia's outpost is expected to be two clicks to the north-east." Informed a grunt.

"Strike Team Gamma is close on our five o'clock, they advise to watch fire." Said another. Alan's eyes scanned the place for any sign of movement, first the ground, then the trees. Aside from the occasional native bird there wasn't anything of interest that he could find, and that's what made him tense. Combined with the cloak and a spot that's not only hidden but also in clear view of them made the troops of the I.M.C. easy targets. It was a good thing Alan for once decided to bring a weapon other than his pistol: a G2A4 rifle. It would prove to be either a blessing or curse because without an automatic weapon at hand to suppress enemy forces Alan would be forced to rely on a steady aim and a clear sight; both of which would be difficult to handle when in the middle of a firefight in this environment. It could deal with snipers with relative ease and considering how dangerous they were with a vantage point that's what he was most concerned with.

The canopy above shielded everyone from most of the sunlight, good for vision and kept the already humid heat at bay so that was something to smile about. A few birds cawed out above, making Alan and a few other's shift their aim to the sky after being startled. They had to be here, it was a perfect opportunity to set up an ambush and the Militia knew it too. More rustling above. "I don't like this..." A grunt complained nervously, weapon swinging left and right of him trying to find an enemy that wasn't there. An Aural Implant would have made things a lot easier but Alan- And especially Vanessa- wasn't too keen on the idea of modifying his body for the sake of combat like other Pilots would. Another rustle, this time Alan kept his eye on it. It was a branch clumped with leaves spreading all the way to its trunk, an ample spot for a sniper. They were probably being listened in on, waiting until they reached a spot where every single person could be gunned down in an instant. Alan held back a hand to halt the advance, the others complying and taking cover where they could after he gave them the signaled order. Alan too hid behind a boulder, half his torso purposefully sticking out to attract the attention of any marksmen. He snapped his fingers to bring attention of the grunts and Spectres.

'Enemy sniper. Watch.' Alan signaled, attention still fixed on the spot but with eyes looking side to side to feign ignorance. He turned back to the others, putting a hand on a grenade before signaling them of possible enemies on either side of them. With finger on his rifle's trigger, Alan turned back around and shot at the vantage point as accurate as he could. Just as a body reappeared from cloak, two grenades from the squad went off on either side of them with a few cries. The familiar sound or R-101 rifles rang out in the air as the silence was broken.

"Enemies either side!" Yelled Edgar as he and Tom were pinned behind a fallen tree. The Spectres took on the job of dealing with the enemies to the east, the Militia would have been caught and surrounded by Gamma Team had they been able to help. Two of the squad's grunts were shot, one clenching the bullet wound in his stomach and the other lying still in a daze on the ground from the impact. "Scott where's that fire support?" The man yelled again. Scott took a shot, killing one of the terrorists dressed in leaves, twigs, and slathered head to toe in brown and green paint. The last one on their side of the battle ducked behind a tree, allowing Alan to dash out from behind the boulder he had been forced to sit behind. The squad of now five, one staying back to cover the wounded, encroached on the Militia's position, suppressing the man until finally turning the corner and surrounding the man. Tom shot him.

"Enemy Pilot!" The grunt left behind yelled to them. Alan, out of necessity, jumped to the side of a tree and kicked off it. It was already a fairly short distance from where they were but Alan would make it a quicker one. He saw the last Spectre gunned down and the woman in full Pilot gear reloading to deal with the remaining grunts, but he intercepted her. Unable to keep a steady aim Alan chose to drop his weapon in favor of his knife which would be far more reliable in close combat.

The woman spotted Alan about to fire her rifle but was tackled to the ground by the man. After being forced to drop her weapon the Pilot kicked him off of her and the two began to circle one another. Alan went first, cutting across her shoulder while his enemy drew her own knife in retaliation. His comrades finally caught up, though they weren't confident in their aim to kill the enemy Pilot. Once again, they would have to leave it to a Pilot to finish the job. Once again Alan was about to lunge forward and swipe at the Pilot but took a boot to the chest instead. He stumbled back and tripped over a log resulting in the woman using her jump-kit to launch herself in the air for the killing blow. Alan reversed the grip on his knife, putting the handle to his abdomen while his other hand reached up and latched on to the wrist of her armed hand. She was unable to prevent the inevitable, falling onto the knife's blade hurting Alan from the blunt force in the process. The hand Alan held onto shivered from the shock, the knife dropping harmlessly beside the I.M.C. Pilot's head. Her left hand fell beside Alan's head trying to hold herself up but he could tell she was fading away as her head slowly drooped down to rest on Alan. She was still alive, that much he could feel from the shallow, inconsistent breaths, but for how long was anyone's guess. He had put a hand to her back, gently rolling her off of him to lay her down and pull out his knife. After standing back up, Alan took the weakened woman into his arms and a lazy gaze from behind a helmet looking back at him. The Pilot carried her over to a nearby tree, resting her against it to make whatever last moments she had more comfortable. He wasn't so sure himself why he gave such comforts to his enemy- an enemy that robbed him of a different future at that-, but it didn't really matter what his subconscious reason was, it's why he always tried to go for the kill to avoid situations like these. If they were already going to die from blood loss, shooting them now would simply make him look like the monster the Militia painted the I.M.C. to be and leaving them where they fell to bleed out just didn't sit well with the man.

"So, what's that all about?" Edgar asked, taking a look at the Militia Pilot.

"Stabbed the diaphragm, were the wound much worse, then it would be the equivalent of choking to death, except with a clear windpipe." Alan replied sternly while Edgar shuddered at the thought. The Pilot wandered over to pick up his dropped rifle, "It's the least I could do." The two looked over to the body, the woman finally passed away as evident of a lack of chest movement. "I don't know if the Militia will return the favor in kind, but we're not like them, we're better."

* * *

 **A.N.: A little short for my liking but like an almost empty tank of gas, it- or a(n) setting/event in this case- can only get you so far.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	13. Chapter 13: The Second Reunion

"The Second Reunion"

Deeper into the jungle I.M.C. forces went with the overgrown and rusted outpost now surrounded on all sides, its valiant defenders armed with plenty of ammo to keep out the intruders for as long as possible. It was a good thing the major population centers were confined only to the landing ports else these battles would start to get bloody, real fast; and not just with Militia and I.M.C. blood. Strike Team Gamma linked up with what remained of Alan's squad and waited for the right moment to storm the listening-post-turned-fort, its defenders were relentless in suppressing friendly forces in the area with only Spectres having the faintest of luck. The human combatants all waited behind various forms of cover, thick tree trunks be them fallen or upright, rock that had poked out from the ground for a convenient shield, even some of the unluckier men practically had a wall of Spectres protecting them from almost certain death. It didn't take long for the Spectres to finally have a breakthrough as the visible terrorists certainly didn't have the ammo to combat the mass number of machines that came their way and eventually the path was clear.

"Spectres've done their work, move it!" Shouted Edgar to the rest of the team. Alan went first, making a sprint toward and up the armored walls to climb onto the roof in hopes to secure it while the grunts breached the fortified doors on all sides. The Pilot found himself in the company of four Spectres, each darting their weapons around to scan for hostiles as if half-expecting an entire fireteam of Militia to show up at any second. Littered at their feet were bodies of Militia troops with a several more wrecks of Spectres alongside them, all that was left were the terrorists held up inside the structure, each armed to the teeth with weapons and explosives though how long they would last against overwhelming odds depended on how smart they used them.

Running up to one of the roof-level doors, Alan tried the handle. It was locked. Before kicking it down himself, he was lightly pushed to the side as a Spectre approached the door while the other three stacked at either side. The synthetic trooper kicked the door off its hinges, the metal slab falling on top of a Militia grunt and crushing him while three others gunned down the machine. The other Spectres breached, paying no attention to their fallen squadmate and gunned down the Militia with their R-97s without letting the slaughter go on for longer than a few seconds. Alan followed the remaining three Spectres, the drones securing the small room that held only a few computer consoles and a stairwell downstairs. It was dark, the lights flickered on an off at best with emergency lights being the staple of light, it was moldy as being in dense jungle certainly let nature retake what was once hers, and it was a little rusty, better than how it looked outside, but there was nothing better to expect from a poorly maintained base; it was a sort the signature of most Militia hideouts. Still, Alan readied his untraditional rifle and followed the Spectres whom all took point, his gun may not be the best for interior fighting but he, like every other Pilot, trained to make do with it. The four would barely catch the tail end of the Militia retreating deeper into the heart of the facility and unable to catch any kills for himself, the Pilot simply open fired along with the other I.M.C. forces rallying to them, hoping a bullet would bite one of them in the back. He could see the once neat and organized halls were now filled with various crates and makeshift barricades the Militia likely put up for this very occasion. The group of fleeing enemies made a hard left, two of them buying time for their comrades by firing at the I.M.C. with little success. However, a Militia Pilot made a right, breaking off from the others which Alan could only assume it was for the I.M.C. to prioritize which target was more dangerous. Sliding over a crate, Alan ordered the other friendly forces to finish the mission while he and his new trio of Spectres that followed him chased after the Pilot that split apart from the group. Alan was close, right on her tail, when she suddenly stopped, dropping to the floor to sweep her foot across the ground, tripping the man to the floor in the process before stealing his weapon. She turned her attention to the last three Spectres, shooting them each down with a quick finger on the trigger before the downed Pilot could even toss over to his back. Once he did she looked down at him, about to fire but the man succeeded in jumping up with his gear to grab her arm and pull her down with him. The two wrestled for dominance over the other but ultimately Alan would prove stronger of the two, he unsheathed his knife to finish her off but then had her hand punch him in the gut. The woman kicked him off of her, stealing his dropped knife and about to do the same to him only to stop when she saw his patch.

"Alan?" She called out to him, her grip on the knife loosening but with a free hand taking his Hammond from him and tossing it to the side for safe measure. He recognized the voice, it was that of Iori, the sly one of his old team. Internally he was screaming and swearing at his luck to once again meet someone from his old squad but outside he kept silent, gritting his teeth while his body recovered from the punch. She got up and off of her old squadmate, checking her surroundings to make sure no one was watching or approaching. As it stood, no one was around, the only good news she had while the bulk of their respective allies duked it out in the final rooms and halls of the outpost, "You remember me, right?" Iori asked.

"I certainly remember your strength." Alan groaned while hunched over on the ground and hissing in pain. Once it subsided, the man was finally able to pick himself up off the ground with the help of an outstretched hand.

"Sorry 'bout that." She began, grabbing his arm and beckoning for him to follow, "I was hoping one day we'd meet again, now that you're here we can go back to HQ and-" Alan pulled away, realizing what she meant.

"I can't go with you."

"What do you mean?" Iori turned back around, "They'll accept you, just give it time. They forgave me, Chris, Vincent, and plenty of other former I.M.C. members." She turned back around expecting him to follow but he didn't budge, "Vincent will be ecstatic when you get there, it'll be almost like old times!" Iori exclaimed, trying not to mention the other half of the squad the war stole from them. She must have never felt better than to reunite with an old friend, unfortunately it would be Alan that would have to burst her bubble of joy.

"I mean _'I'm not going to join the Militia_ '." Alan turned down the offer or her implied offer really. The two were quiet while Iori looked at him stunned at his refusal. "You know why I can't go."

"Things have changed, _people_ can change too." She began to plead for him to join, "Come on, if not for the frontier's freedom then at least for Chris, he died fighting for that freedom and-"

" _I_ killed Chris." Alan boomed.

"You- You must be mistaken, Vincent was listening in and said that he was killed by an I.M.C. Pilot that got the better of him, but you would never do such a thing. Plus-"

" _I killed him_ Iori," The man repeated, hands grabbing either of her shoulders to shake her out of her own denial, "I killed him, I was that 'I.M.C. Pilot', I was the one that pulled the trigger."

"Why?" Her voice quivered. He could tell that her eyes started to water at knowing one more person from their team was dead, this time not by a faceless, dehumanized enemy, but by another of the same team. Alan already felt bad enough doing the deed and bottling it up in front of everyone around him but this, this started to crack that bottle. The woman who once always wore a bright face and never let the war get her down, in front of the man with what Alan could only guess were tears from the stutter in her voice and a broken heart. Broken by him no less.

"He was part of the Militia, I'm with the I.M.C. we're at war whether you like it or not." Alan stated, "I can't believe I'm the one having to say this to you, my enemy."

"First Rose, then Roy, then Chris, and now you too. Come on Alan don't make me fight you, I don't want that deed on my mind," She paused for a moment while the sound of gunfire in the distance started to die down, "But I suppose you already know what it's like."

"I do, but even if we were former close squadmates, we both still have a job to do."

"'Friends' you mean." Iori corrected.

There was a brief second of silence, just as Alan turned his back to walk over to his fallen weapons he felt a strong grip cling to his wrist. Iori pulled him back, punching him across the cheek of his helmet in a surprise attack. She continued her assault, punching Alan's stomach and about to go for another right hook but the man reacted in time to stop it. He went on the offensive, blocking two of her palm strikes before shoving her back. Meanwhile the sound of boots clanking against the metal floor started to get louder, Iori charged Alan, jumping up to kick him to a wall. She drew her knife going for a stab until Alan caught her hand and pinched pressure point around the thumb. With a wail of pain Iori backed off, dropping her knife while Alan dived and rolled over to his pistol which Iori did the same in kind, drawing a similar looking Hammond from her holster. Both had a clear shot, neither could pull the trigger.

"Downed Spectres and weapons over here, watch for an enemy Pilot!" A grunt yelled down one of the other two halls. It wasn't long before a squad had rushed to the I.M.C. Pilot's aid and surrounded Iori in a semi-circle.

"Take care of yourself, I sincerely hope we don't meet again." Iori sighed, unhooking an arc grenade from her belt and tossing it over to the group. All five of whom slightly convulsed at the shock with the grunts dropping their weapons involuntarily while the Pilot could just barely keep control of his body while his distorted vision watched the woman escape.

He was the first to recover, naturally, while the grunts started to come to terms with that kind of electric pain and started steadying their breaths. Alan reluctantly followed after Iori, his heavy heart begging him not to go but his mind knew that meeting her a second time would only make it worse when it all said and done. Trailing her back up a familiar set of stairs and onto the battle-scarred roof, Alan hopped on top of the railings and made a jump for one of the trees. He kicked off each trunk with the aid of his jump-kit, slowly gaining the speed he needed to see a small moving figure in the distance. It was predictable, her route, as it was the only path with enough space to utilize a Pilot's gear in the first place, that and the edge of the jungle to the north dropped off to a small canyon where a dropship was probably waiting for any survivors. He was catching up to her but the woman wasn't one to ignore her surroundings and glanced back to see him. Iori shot a few times back and so did Alan but with the constant jumping from tree to tree aiming down their sights was near impossible, let alone actually hit each other without pure luck. The airborne firefight stopped, with Iori dropping to the ground and grinding to a halt at a cliff's edge. Alan followed, Hammond aimed at the woman.

"You know we're both out of ammo." Iori commented with a now fully stern and aggravated voice.

"Want to test me?" Alan asked, taking a few steps closer. To his surprise Iori grabbed the gun and hovered it over her heart.

"Evac is here in seven seconds. You have plenty of time."

Alan narrowed his eyes, wondering if she had some sort of trick up her sleeve but before he could give it more thought a Crow appeared before them, its side door opening to let Iori into its empty hold. The door separated the two Pilots, Alan firing his last bullet to prove her wrong at least. Damn his guilt getting the better of him.

~ (-) ~

Alan now found himself lying back on his bed defeated by the days' worth of fighting while Vanessa had sat cross legged next to him, resting her back against a pillow keeping her comfortable. Now in casual clothes, both of them found new free time as command had all but given up on lodging the Militia out of their entrenched bunkers and forts. At this point it didn't take a military genius to determine that it would cost many more casualties, casualties the I.M.C. fleet simply didn't have to spare so carelessly. The best they could do now was to defend their newly acquired outposts and keep away from the pro-Militia city districts.

"Like I said it was bound to happen. Perhaps luck just isn't on your side." Vanessa suggested a warm drink in hand to combat the chilling ship's air. Alan's encounter with Iori was hours ago now, the I.M.C. forces made slow gains across the moon, but now they had come to a halt while the crew of the _Solaris_ awaited a new assignment from command.

"Yeah, but I've always had poor luck in the first place." Alan grumbled.

"I know life hasn't been the kindest to you but you still have others to rely on, not to mention my own family and I." The woman reassured, patting his head with a warm smile on her face, "No matter what kind of luck or mud gets thrown at you, just get back up every time. And of course, you will always have people like me to rely on when you need it most even if you want to push them away."

Alan tilted his gaze upward to see the woman's face, placing a hand over his heart, "Careful dear Vanessa, else you may just steal my heart." He teased.

"I hate you." She chuckled, unable to keep a straight face while flicking the side of the man's head. Alan joining in the fit of laughter while the woman assaulted him for his mocking her words of encouragement. Leave it to her to brighten the mood whenever he felt down.

* * *

 **A.N.: Alright so I think I'm going to have to give in and use a set of characters for a break. Something like "~ (-) ~" because _a certain site  
_ only accepts a small list of acceptable characters (That aren't letters), now if you will excuse me I have to go and update every other chapter with the new breaks.  
**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	14. Chapter 14: Another Loss

"Another Loss"

A mining outpost built into a canyon, what a place to pick a fight with the Militia. With the rest of the I.M.C. fleet stuck with garrison duty, the _Solaris_ had been given a different task, one that would bear fruit in the form of manufactured parts and alloys. Already cannibalizing bits and pieces of itself that weren't needed, the I.M.C. fleet had become desperate for new materials and this was the closest place to do it. If they were lucky, the place would be abandoned in favor of the moon's more 'natural beauty'; because of course the Militia were nature loving. Anything to get on the people good side. However, this was still the Militia they were dealing with and the terrorists, no matter how small their numbers, would fight for every inch of soil on this ball of rock and dirt.

"It just never ends." Alan said to himself. Running up to cover behind the low concrete barriers erected around the place. In the pit below there was a handful of incomplete buildings with the main building that led to the underground areas built into the rock face. It was a good thing the I.M.C. already had blueprints of just about everything the Militia controlled, it was one of the strengths of practically owning everything on the Frontier even if it was short lived. The able personnel of the _Solaris_ had been deployed all across the moon to secure various processing plants, the plan was a simple one: After the capture of facilities and their goods, the Fleet would use it to make repairs on both ships and Titans alike. The mechanics would have a field day with that stuff and not have to worry about using 'nothing but duct tape and grit' for once.

"At least we still get paid to fight. Not sure what drives the Militia if they don't have the money to keep mercenaries interested." Edgar commented, sitting with his back rested against the barrier.

"Something about fighting for their homes, right?" Another grunt, Tom asked.

"I doubt that every single person on the frontier lost their home. I swear they make it look like the I.M.C. destroys homes for fun." Edgar responded.

"At least we provide for people instead!" Scott proclaimed from the side. The fourth grunt was quiet on the matter, listening in on radio chatter to see if he could pick up any Militia communications.

"Sasha, any signs of hostiles?" Alan asked through his comm device to their spotter. He looked up to a cliff to catch a tiny figure of the woman with her Longbow rifle in hand. She adjusted her sights again and again, finger off the trigger to avoid any accident.

"Enemy squad directly west of main facility entrance, two more separate grunts emerging from the underground, and another squad patrolling the main refinery." She informed, keeping a calm eye centered on the head of one of the unsuspecting Militia troops.

"Fireteams, check in." Alan ordered.

"Iota-7 on standby."

"Bravo-2 ready."

"Echo-4, command squad, ready." Edgar said.

"Awaiting your signal Overwatch." Alan informed the woman above them all. She hesitated, slowly placing a finger on her trigger. The grunts got to their feet, crouched and eager to make a sprint into combat at the word.

"Overwatch to all ground teams, begin operation." Sasha took out the enemy squad to the west, allowing for Iota and Bravo to enter unchallenged while Echo and Alan vaulted over their cover and slid down the slope with weapons raised. The Pilot gunned down one of the grunts that were guarding the entrance with his Hammond while another sniper shot pierced the helmet of his partner. The refinery team made a dash to find the source of the noise but came under fire by the combined forces of three separate fireteams. Outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched, the squad of Militia grunts were quickly dispatched. "Phase one complete, move on to phase two." Sasha ordered.

Bravo-2 remained outside to secure the entrance while the other two teams breached into the compound. Inside the massive doors was an even greater space than originally thought. On the group's left was nothing more than a simple walkway for personnel- them being on the main 'road'- and on their right were mounds of raw ore being sprinkled onto conveyer belts that led to the outside refinery. The heat from the furnaces made things a little too hot and outside was hot enough. Lights were strung up across the right wall with wires drooping and hanging from various height to shine down on the rough path that had been smoothed from constant use. It was a good thing they weren't going deep into the mines as the M.R.V.N.s could handle that kind of work themselves and there was little use for the man-made caverns save the ores. Then again that's exactly what a guerilla force would want their enemy to think wouldn't they? Either way there was only one way in and one way out so if it came down to it, the I.M.C. forces would have to venture deep into the unknown. Nevertheless, that was not their mission, they would first need to clear out the place of any hostiles and get the facility online if it wasn't already. In their case all that was needed was to wipe out insurgent forces and reclaim the facility for the I.M.C.

Alan led the two teams toward another set of doors that marked the entrance of the control center. Both teams stacked either side of the main facility's door, two of the men with hands on either handle. The two took a breather in preparation for the worst, looking to Edgar for his input on the matter. Edgar held a grenade in hand, counting back from three with his fingers. Once he clenched his fist the set of rusted metal doors were forced open with a squeak from their hinges, Edgar arming his grenade and tossing it in. Alan charged in right after hearing the explosive pop, using his jump-kit for a quick speed boost until he fell into a slide. From the looks of it, the defenders had taken little damage as evident with a pair of metal desks- both of which were flipped over to use as makeshift barricades- showing a visible char mark from the explosion. Alan aimed and shot for the heads in his slide, killing two and leaving Bravo and Iota to take out two more of the terrorists. The bright blue-green light that bathed the room had shut off in favor of emergency lighting: a dim red color that made it difficult to see in the already darkened interior. Alan, despite the sudden shift in vision, jumped in the air with the aid of his gear, hovering over another Militia man before striking him with his fist and finishing him off with a single pull of the trigger. Three other grunts had attempted to fall back but failed when the I.M.C. soldiers fired upon them. That must have been all of them because there weren't any further attempts to kick the I.M.C. personnel out of the place. Strange, but welcome. Perhaps the Militia's lack of manpower was starting to show.

A heavy rumble shook the men, they were more like giant footsteps. Alan walked back the way they came, Iota had already gone back into the open area within the facility but-

"Titan!" One of Iota's grunts yelled before being cut off by a hail of missiles. The Pilot picked up his pace, leaving the safety of the interior to see what was going on. Two Iota members were missing, their remains presumably the splatters of blood on the dirt floor. Another had his leg crushed beneath the rubble cause by the explosion, his bloody arm reaching out to Alan while it trembled from the pain. The I.M.C. pilot took a look at the scene of bloodshed, stepping out into the open to come face to face with a Stryder titan that, thankfully, lacked a primary weapon. The top of its orange and green hull scrapped against the rock roof while the orange colored lights from its various visual cameras fell upon the Pilot. It came from the mines.

"Echo, get Iota free and break for the outside!" Alan instructed, firing his pistol knowing full well it was useless without access to its internals. With the Titan in play the place now was cramped with a deadly twist: two metal fists tried to crush each of the I.M.C. troops. Oddly enough, Alan was thankful he was considered the primary threat by whoever was inside (assuming a Pilot was inside in the first place) as unlike the grunts, the Pilot could avoid the mechanical punches with slides and jumps; something the grunts weren't capable of without training nor gear. Alan jumped to the Titan's face, clinging too it in hopes of getting the machine to cease its attacks but it was relentless. He jumped off as a fist flew inches from the Titan's front and slammed into one of the walls causing more rubble to shake loose, only this time the shaking went on for slightly longer than expected. At this rate the Titan would bring the whole mountain on top of them both!

"Sir," Said the leader of Bravo-2, "We are taking heavy fire from Militia reinforcements and command is demanding we pull out!" Reinforcements from the Militia? Retreating? This didn't seem like a thing command was willing to do given recent events, from the sound of it, Alan started to fear the worst has yet to come.

"Sasha, get what's left of Iota to safety, Bravo cover their retreat. Echo, hold the line for now!" Alan yelled into his comms, dodging the clumsy Titan all the while. It stopped, making a dash for the large exit doors. "Bravo, incoming!"

"Sir, you're going to want to see this. In the sky..." Edgar said, voice poisoned with fear. The Stryder bust open the exit, crushing two members of Bravo team with the doors while the other two fled for their lives. Alan wasn't far behind, sliding to a halt at one of the dying grunts. "Watch out for that Titan!" He heard Edgar yell to the survivors.

"Bravo, don't worry we'll get you out of here." Alan said, taking one of the dying man's hands into his own, his lower half had been completely crushed. The Pilot knew he wasn't going to make it, but he would make damn sure he wouldn't die without a small spark of hope still left in him. Before he could say anything else the man on the ground reached over to grab his rifle, shoving it into Alan's chest with the last of his strength.

"Kill- The bastard." He coughed out, arm's falling to his side. Alan nodded as the man's head fell back. The Pilot charged the Titan whom was searching for its next target. It took noticed of the foolish Pilot, slamming a fist into the ground where he expected Alan to be, but it was the Titan who had been fooled. Alan had jumped into the air, landing on the Titan's arm and sprinting up to its hatch, tearing off its protective covering in a fit of anger and firing on its internals. The Titan shook and kicked Alan off like a wild horse would with a rider it didn't want. The Pilot fell and rolled in the dirt, scrambling to his feet to face the Titan again. Alan dashed behind a fallen rock, waiting for a second to reload his pistol before climbing on top of it and leaping into the air once again, this time over the Titan's fist. He landed back on top of the mech, emptying his pistol into the machine's circuits and wires until finally its limbs and chassis started sparking and flaming. Alan climbed off and fell to the side of the mechanical beast, watching its Pilot fall to the ground and stumble away from the wreckage. He followed, pushing the Militia Pilot into the ground with his foot before using the last bullet of the R-101 to shoot the back of his head for a quick death.

"This is the Vice Admiral," Came the broadcast of Spyglass's monotone voice, "Emergency evacuation procedures have been started, shuttles have been dispatched to all I.M.C. locations, you have a minute to board or be left behind." He said coldly. Alan couldn't tell why they were abandoning the place, they had been winning unless...

"'The sky'..." Alan recalled Edgar saying, looking up above to have his eyes fixed upon a brand-new armada of Militia ships. Drop pods fell from the sky like rain while Crows started hovering over the last I.M.C. squad in the area. Even from the surface Alan could see the I.M.C. fleet was heavily out gunned by the sheer number of Militia ships, already weakened from the prolonged fighting without major repairs it was almost a miracle none of the vessels were obliterated in the fire; one unlucky I.M.C. ship was taking the bulk of the Militia's firepower.

"Echo, Alan, this is Sasha, Iota and Bravo have been secured, move it." Sasha said calmly. Alan linked up with Echo team, holding the line as pod after pod filled with grunts and outdated Spectres joined the battle.

"You get going sir, we'll cover you!" Egar said, firing his rifle before looking to his neighbors, "Tom, Scott, focus fire on those Spectres, if they get on top of us we're dead, Mason, you and me on the terrorists!" He ordered. Now they were back where they started: sheltering behind a set of concrete barriers. The hordes just kept coming.

"I'm not just leaving the rest of you-"

"Sir, we're just expendable grunts." Edgar fired on a squad of Militia trying to flank them, "We won't make it, get going friend, you're expected back and don't let our sacrifice be in vain!" Alan reluctantly nodded, sprinting off in the direction of the evacuation point while the firefight behind him raged on. The Pilot's legs kicked off the ground and onto one of the walls, running across it and jumping from surface to surface while his speed picked up one jump after the other. In the distance he could see the Goblin dropship waiting with the wounded grunts and Sasha. The man paid no attention to his surroundings, eyes honed in on the tempting hold of the transport while it got closer and closer. His feet landed on the final stretch of ground before the ship, his legs wanted to give out, his breath had grown heavy from the non-stop running without pause or rest, he still had to keep his word. Sasha outstretched an arm to grab the man who was still a few meters in front of her.

"The fleet is about to jump! We're taking off!" He heard the ship's pilot say. Alan made a jump for the ship with the aid of his jump-kit, he could feel fingers brushing past and slipping through Sasha's hand while the able grunts and herself looked in horror as the door shut on him. The Pilot fell to the ground, on his knees as he watched the ship and a few others jump away toward the fleet. Sitting back and taking in the moment, he could do nothing as most of the fleet jumped away. Save one ship.

"This Captain Knight of the I.M.S. _Solaris_ , our engines have failed, I repeat our engines have failed!" The worse has come. "Hull integrity at nine percent!" The Militia fleet was relentless in their targeting of the Solaris, several frigates riding alongside it to give it a broadside. "Dammit, all hands abandon ship, get out however you can!" There was a few moments of silence and a flicker of light at the carrier's aft, Alan was speechless to say the least to see the dozens if not hundreds of escape pods, regular drop pods, even seeing a few familiar trails of Titan-sized pods falling from the carrier's underbelly, "This is Knight, the surviving crew have all but fully evacuated. To anyone who called this ship home, let her protect you one last time. Over an out." The carrier turned to face the moon, engines kicking into overdrive and slamming into the front section of one of the Militia's bigger ships. The _Solaris_ smashed through it with little problems, though missing its forward right booster and most of its armor, the ship was still intact, diving toward the moon's surface in a ball of fire. He couldn't watch anymore, his spacefaring home meeting its fate when her heard the ground beneath him shiver from the impact and following crash. He slammed his fist into the ground, again he could do nothing. He could do nothing all those years ago. He punched the ground again. Nothing when everyone was slaughtered before him in that sandy hell. Another punch. Nothing when Demeter was destroyed. Again. And now he could do nothing as his brothers and sisters in arms- their home of the _Solaris_ included- perished. Even in the heat he felt a shiver run down his spine, Alan grit his teeth together as he clenched his right hand tighter and tighter. He could do nothing. There was a blip. Alan took off his helmet and scrubbed the water from his eye before putting it back on. There was a small blip. And another, and another. and many more dots lighting up on his visor. Distress signals. No. There _was_ something he can do this time. He looked back in the direction he left Echo, that's where he would start.

* * *

 **A.N.: Nothing to report!**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	15. Chapter 15: New Orders

"New Orders"

Alan made the short journey back toward the refinery as quick as he could, falling to the dry dirt ground in a run when he got close. Up ahead was the sound of Militia transports, forcing the Pilot to take cover behind a large jagged rock pillar that extruded from the ground. He listened in on the familiar accents of Militia grunts, trying to see what kind of information he could gather from them even if he didn't expect much from them in the first place.

"Alright, recover our dead and call for more medivacs! Critically wounded get the first ride out of here!" Alan heard one of the Militia ordered, "Jenkins, any sign of those last two I.M.C.?"

"Negative sir, they fled deeper into the canyon." Came the reply, "Should we send a team after them?"

"Nah they'll die out in the open anyways, nature will do the work for us." The senior of the two voices said. Alan unholstered his Hammond, dropping to a crouch before peeking around the corner to take a good look at what he was up against: A single squad of the terrorists. Behind them were the barriers he and his comrades sheltered behind less than an hour ago, the concrete now broken and cracked from the battle while two bodies lie still at their base. He was about to take a step out in the open, but the sight of a dropship had stopped him in his tracks. The ship rose slowly, taking off back toward the armada of rust buckets and converted civilian freighters once it cleared the canyon. "Eagle Eye wants this place secured in the next three hours."

"I thought we were going to keep this place at minimum operations?"

"The other parts of the frontier are now in dire need of war materials and this is just the ample place to refine them." The leading grunt said, turning back to his friend while the other two looked over the pit that housed the refinery in question.

The Pilot unhooked a grenade, stopping himself from using it once he remembered that he was stranded on the moon likely without any chance of resupply. If he was going to continue his fight against the Militia, he would have to savor every bullet he had. Alan put away his weapons, unsheathing his knife and eyeing up his targets carefully. He swallowed, unsure about the outcome himself despite getting ready to fight until he saw a hand wave him down from the corner of his eye. Back the way he went, he recognized the white and grey uniform of an I.M.C. soldier. Putting away his weapon, Alan carefully crossed the clearing without bringing attention to himself. Eventually making it to the other man after stopping every now and then to dodge the watchful eyes of a Militia grunt. The only two there were Edgar and a critically wounded Tom who's head bobbed side to side in a daze.

"Hey Alan," Tom coughed weakly after catching a glimpse of the Pilot, "Missed your ride?"

"Militia overran us, luckily you flew right over us or I would have missed you." Edgar said, tending to his wounded friend. The blood coated Edgar's hands as he pressed down on the bullet wounds, beneath them booth was just a pool of crimson.

"What happened?" Alan asked Edgar, giving a helping hand in trying to stem the flow of blood, but like a river, it could not be stopped with mere hands.

"Militia got Scott, Mason tried to help, but a shot to the head killed him instantly." He reported, eyes still focused on the wounded Tom and keeping him from being added to that list.

Tom chuckled at the Pilot, coughing up more blood before resting his head against the ground and closing his eyes, "Man," He whispered, "She's going to be pissed when you get back…" The man finished.

"Easy Tom, save your breath. We'll get you out of here." Edgar reassured, "Tom, come on keep your eyes open, you've gotta' stay here buddy, once we get you to the fleet- Tom?" He called out, nudging the body in a vain attempt to wake the man. Tom's breath ceased. "Tom!" Edgar yelled a little louder, still cautious of letting any Militia ears hear his pained voice. The sole survivor of the squad sat back on his knees, staring at the body and blood covered hands. The Pilot looked at him, unsure of what he could say in fear of making things worse. Words had failed to help him before, and they certainly have now. The grunt grabbed his battle-scarred rifle, bringing himself to his feet with eyes fixed on his deceased friend, "Rest easy my friend."

"He was a good man." Alan said. He certainly didn't know him as well as Edgar, but over the short time it had been since they first met, they've got to know each other well. It was a shame the war claimed another noble life.

"Aren't we all?" Edgar asked with a sigh. "What do we do now, Alan?"

"The _Solaris_ may have gone down, we are stranded, and the fleet has jumped away, but there are still survivors on this moon. If we want to stand a chance against the hordes, we'll need to first rally who we can." The Pilot planned out. No doubt the many surviving groups would be thinking the same thing in finding safety in numbers. With any luck they'll have a few stranded Pilots and Titans assuming they weren't destroyed before linking together with others.

"Alright," Edgar nodded, "Better we all die together then eh?"

~ (-) ~

After a short vigil for their fellow soldiers, Alan and Edgar had begun their trek to the nearest distress signal. Fortunately, it was in the opposite direction of the refinery which made escaping that much easier. Unfortunately, the skies were patrolled by wings of fighters and dropships like vultures searching for their next meal. Outside of the canyon was a mess of rock and hills with small shrubs and other small plant life being the only break the two men had from the sea of orange and brown sand and stone. The sun had started waning, allowing them hide in the shadows of larger natural structures and the hawk-like eyes of the Militia above, but that came at the cost of speed. Without a good source of light that wouldn't give away their position, each step they made would have to be done carefully.

Hours of non-stop traveling had brought them to the edge of a Jungle, the only kind of oasis this barren rock of a world had. "What exactly are we looking for?" Edgar asked, rubbing his eyes from drowsiness among other things. He remained strong in his step, keeping up with the Pilot who simply followed the beacon.

"I'm not so sure myself. According to the transponder's codes, it's a ship that landed somewhere around here but-" Alan paused, seeing a glimpse of metal reflect the starlight from above, "There it is."

"Finally," Edgar complained, "My legs are about to give out here!"

When they approached the dropship, two guarding grunts took aim at them, yelling for the others to wake as the Pilot and his companion raised their hands to show they meant no harm. It may have taken a while, but eventually the landed crew of the ship eventually were able to recognize their fellow I.M.C. personnel. "It's a Pilot! Yes, ha-ha!" One of them cheered with arms in the air. The others welcomed the two into their small camp of little more than rocks and a single crate of ammo.

"I'm just glad I can finally take a seat." Edgar commented, walking into the interior of the Goblin and just lying on the cool metal flooring with a groan of exhaustion. Alan wasn't in any better shape, feeling almost immediately relieved of the strain in his legs when he gathered with the six others for a rest and chat. The ship's pilot and another grunt didn't bother, prioritizing their sleep over catching up with the Pilot. Those that remained awake huddled in a small circle to figure out what exactly was going on and what they would do now without a ticket out of the system.

"How did you all end up with a ship?" Alan asked, taking a glance at the vessel.

"We were just on a resupply mission, right when we loaded this first box, fleet was ordered to jump away." The remaining pilot explained, "When the _Solaris_ failed to join them, everyone was just ordered to leave with whatever they had." He finished.

"What about the crew?" Whom Alan was worried about was obvious to him, and Edgar assuming he was listening in and still awake, but should his fears come true… well he wasn't sure what he would do. If his one anchor is gone then nothing would stop him from drifting off, and that was not a thought he wanted on his mind.

"Everyone was being packed in, soldiers, engineers, crewmen, you name it. Some ships left with supplies, others only with people. Captain was adamant on shoving everything we could carry out of the ship." He went on. From the sound of it, the Captain probably knew it was too late to save their ship, so he instead gave those on the ground a small fighting chance as his last gift to the _Solaris_ 's crew and those that called it home. The old man sure loved the ship, he was like a father to everyone aboard, going even as far as joining his fellow subordinates at the rec room, or helping the Pilots in their training center during the rare times he was free from the shackles of being a commanding officer of the I.M.C.

"Yeah, you should have seen the pace it was just chaos in scrambling to find a way to escape, hell everyone started to use the drop pods when the last few ships started leaving." One of the other grunts piped up, scratching his head when trying to think about those that were still in other sections of the ship, "Don't know much else after that."

"Well Pilot, you found us. Do you have a plan or did you just want a free ride? Not that I mind which, it's not like we can go anywhere without being a target and I refuse to turn myself into a prisoner for one of those terrorists!" Another grunt said- likely the leader of the group- with his fist slamming down on a rock with venom in the word 'terrorists'. He had a clear hatred toward the Militia though Alan wasn't sure the reason, but they had something in common then.

"As a matter of fact, I do, but if we plan to execute it, we must do start now." Alan declared, finger pointing to the ground as he looked to the others, "First, we can only travel by night. It's obvious the Militia have air superiority and even more so that they have sensors that can detect us, but so long as we keep a low profile, and if the Militia fleet above is focused on watching for our own, we just might have a chance at gathering survivors at a rally point. Only then can we make a stand with a sliver hope of survival or even victory." Alan explained. He wasn't the best at this, he probably looked like an optimistic fool in believing in victory and his hopeful plan was cheesy at best, but even then, it was the only plan anyone could make without radio contact with other survivors. It was also the only chance he had at finding the others, dead or alive.

There was silence in the air, Alan was about to believe they didn't care anymore, but he would blame them. However, the leader stood up and looked to his men, "Oh what the hell, I'm in." The other soldiers looked at him in surprise with one of them speaking up.

"Sir, its practically a suicide mission, are you sure?" One of the grunts said, looking at the Pilot.

"I'm not going to lie," Alan began, "We might all die trying to do this."

"Sitting here is a death sentence anyways without adequate food and water. I'd rather go down on my feet than lie down on my back and give up to bunch of terrorists!" He proclaimed with a clenched fist.

"The Militia already robbed me one home of mine, and now they've destroyed another. Right now I'm just itching for a fight." Another grunt commented, punching the palm of his hand with a furrowed brow.

"We're all going to die, but by god will I be glad to die alongside the rest of you!" One more commented. "We'll follow you, sir." The group looked at Alan, underneath his helmet he couldn't help but give a small smile

"We have our ship, we have the locations of the others, and the Militia are just begging for a beating. Gather your things, rub the sleep from your eyes and let's move out!"

* * *

 **A.N.: Thank you for waiting just a little longer than normal, was a bit busy and then I _still_ had to plan out the next course(s) of action for the ragtag team of survivors (and not just this group)! **

**As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	16. Chapter 16: Broken Home

"Broken Home"

"So, what are we in store for this time?" One of the pilots asked with strained eyes keeping track of where he was going. Traveling without appropriate lighting was difficult, but a necessary sacrifice needed to avoid any unwanted attention. Still, it wouldn't take much for a squadron of fighters to be deployed and shoot them down which, needless to say, made the Goblin's passengers rather tense. The small transport was approaching a plateau that served as the site of a small collection of drop pods. Despite the night's darkness, the starlight above was just enough to point out the few crashed pods and blinking, emergency lights from the top of each of them. Below were the barely visible fires from the survivors' gun muzzles, no doubt fighting off the Militia hunters that were tasked with silencing them before aid arrived. However, today was a day the squad of Militia would fail in their assignment.

"Don't know, survivors at best, bodies at worst. Can we hail them?" Alan asked, pointing toward the small collection of pods for the Pilots to home in on.

"Not with all this interference, the damn terrorists have been scrambling our comms since the fleet left, all we have is local and even then, I don't believe they have the equipment nor the time to pick up." Was the pilot's response.

"Drop us down, then circle around with a spotlight on our enemies."

"Aye, Pilot. Best of luck to you all." The ship lowered to the earth, its side starboard door opening up to a mostly flat plain with their right side covered by the plateau that stretched far into the sky. The first escape pod in front of them was already aflame with its occupant thankfully missing however the sound of gunfire echoed in the air not too far ahead of them. Three of the grunts, one of whom being Edgar, joined Alan in his departure with the other two opting to stay back and provide support from the air however small their help may be.

Only seconds after stepping from the metal flooring that was the Goblin's interior, the ship door closed behind them and begun its ascent into the air, doing as Alan asked in shining its lights down on all but unsuspecting Militia soldiers. The handful of I.M.C. charged up the shallow hill in front of them to come face to face with a small skirmish, another friendly grunt was pinned behind his crashed pod while a second had his wounds being tended by a woman, bruised and dirt-covered, whom appeared to be a member of the /Solaris/'s medical staff. Alan's team laid down suppressing fire, allowing for the other grunt help the medic drag their wounded comrade to the safety behind friendly lines. The Pilot too took the opportunity to slide down to a crashed pod formerly belonging to the wounded friendly and took up his weapon in his stead. It had already felt like it had seen action, presumably to protect the valuable medical expert from any life-threatening harm. The Pilot jumped to his feet, charging toward the wall of the plateau while the Militia were still blinded by the light above. He his feet collided with the rock surface, his gear just able to keep him upright while he ran to flank his enemies before him.

By the time the Militia troops had adjusted to the new lighting conditions the Pilot was already on top of them, his own team of grunts not far behind. The man landed on one of the grunts, feeling ribs crack and break under his weight while the body slide a few feet to a stop. Alan's quick reflexes counted a total of eleven more enemies, each coming out of their blindness one at a time. The Pilot placed his few shots on a group of the terrorists sitting in a bunch, each falling to the ground with the constant pull of R-101's trigger until there was the familiar click of an empty chamber. He threw the rifle at one of the grunts, picking up the one at his feet before continuing his spree. Alan tried to fire but found the gun had only managed three bullets before emptying, resulting in only a single kill. Meanwhile four more grunts on the far side of him rallied together to fight against the elite Pilot however such plans were put to rest once friendly forces joined the fray. Alan unsheathed his knife, dashing toward the nearest enemy and cutting him down with a few slashes and a stab through the heart. While friendly troops slowly encircled the enemy and the dropship above opened up with its two remaining soldiers taking a few shots at the main squad of Militia, Alan was left to deal with the last terrorist. The man Alan had set his eyes on looked on in horror as his death was fast approaching. The Militia soldier, trying to pull his rifle up, could not do so in time as the faster, more experienced Pilot had ended it with a slash across the torso and another through the throat.

With a few tired breaths, Alan withdrew his blade, cleaning its edge on the uniform of the dead Militia before stealing two of their weapons and a spare magazine. They wouldn't be needing it anyways. With a rifle in each arm the Pilot was about to head back to the dropship that had already returned to pick up with three survivors until he met the man he had crushed beneath his boots. He could see he was struggling to get air with the way his chest spasmed and coughed blood. Alan closed his eyes and counted to three in his head, opening them up again to see the man was still in fear and panic. The Pilot raised one of the rifles, finishing him off with one bullet.

Leaving the field of bodies, Alan rejoined the grunt squad, the Goblin dropship being loaded with the new recruits and the wounded grunt finally able to rest without fear of dying thanks to the medic. Edgar, still looking a little worse for wear, silently took a seat in the back of the ship across from the crate of ammo. One of the vessel's pilots looked back at his ground soldier counterpart, "I hope you have a better plan than shoving every person we meet on this thing, we can't just house everyone in the back. We're already at our peak weight capacity."

"I'm well aware of that." Alan replied after walking up to the pilot's seat to take a look at the vast abyss of darkness in front of them, "We need a place for ourselves, somewhere where we can store our equipment and house our people."

"That being?" The co-pilot on Alan's right looked at him with a raised brow. Aside from the outposts the I.M.C. had abandoned in their desperate escape, there was no place on this ball of rock and jungle they all could find refuge. The small port-cities would no doubt throw them under the bus, the Militia would have already started establishing control over more ground facilities, and without any sort of map (Except for Alan's helmet keeping a link on distress beacons) they knew nothing about the layout of this land. They were blind, outnumbered, and sorely in need of a break or a supply of food and water as their field rations wouldn't last them a week.

"I don't know." Alan sighed, "We're already stretching what we have. The only place where we could find anything of use are those outposts and-" His eyes widened with realization, "The /Solaris/."

"Our ship?" the co-pilot continued his series of questions.

"She may be down but she's a tough, old carrier. I doubt we'll find any people there, but it's at least a place we can find shelter in."

"And you don't think the Militia would already be on that carrier stripping it off what it's worth?" Edgar asked from the back of the ship, picking himself to his feet while the other, tired grunts looked up at him. "You've got to remember, every Militia vessel is either stolen, or refit, maybe both. If we go there-"

"No." Alan cut the man off, "/I'm/ going there." He corrected. The Pilot believed every word the grunt had said, as a result, the only person who could survive being surrounded by hostiles was Alan himself. "I'll be dropped off just out of sight of the Militia occupants. The rest of you will have to find another place to lay low. Once they are taken care of, one way or another, I'll try to find a way to contact you."

The rest of the crew were skeptical of his plan, just like the one he had made prior to performing a rescue op. The other sergeant was next to ask, "And how do you propose you do that?"

"Well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't banking on the chance that the /Solaris/'s communication equipment was still functional. If it is, then we can at least broadcast a message to the other survivors and let them know we're still in this fight." Alan said, "I just hope we're not the last ones alive."

~ (-) ~

A new day had just peeked over the horizon as the dropship had begun its flight toward their former home's crash site. Aside from a pilot, Edgar, and Alan, everyone had found some peace however they could even if it was somewhat uncomfortable. The once cool, refreshing air had now started to warm up thanks to the sun.

"You not going to catch some sleep?" Alan asked Edgar whom was busy watching over the landscape with his rifle in arms.

"I'll be fine, right now let's just find a way off this rock." The grunt said sternly. He'd been far quieter since the loss of the team which wasn't a good sign however, it was good the man's mind was still clear enough to fight. Alan had seen before how overwhelming such losses could break the newest of recruits, from the common grunt to even a fresh Pilot, none were clear of tragedy without a great deal of mental preparation. Sometimes not even then. The Pilot decided to quit before he dug himself any deeper, knowing full well it was best to let the other man keep to himself, ironically Vanessa would tell Alan otherwise, but he was not her.

After some time of silence, the still smoldering wreckage that was once a proud and noble I.M.C. carrier was coming into view. Well parts of it. The /Solaris/'s engines had been torn apart from her hull with only a single one clinging to the port-bow and its black and charred hull was broken and torn apart, exposing the interior to the elements. Trailing behind the ship was a great skid mark that split one of the jungle oases in two. The trail the crash had made was completely barren of any life with only small heaps of fire and the slowly leaking fuel left behind. No doubt the Militia would spin this as an I.M.C. attempt to destroy nature for its resources and profit. If only the people of the frontier knew just what kind of organization the Militia well and truly were.

"Standby, we're approaching the crash site." The still awake pilot said, nudging his neighbor awake. He looked back at the Pilot after settling down in the wake of the carrier's trail, though it may have been an odd choice in leaving Alan out in the open, it was the closest they could get to a 'clear' landing site and not get spotted and shot down. He turned to the only one getting off the ship, "Good luck to you Pilot, we're going to try and find a place to rest. Everything else is up to you." He said to whom Alan nodded in acknowledgment.

The Pilot stepped off, feeling his legs already wanting to take a break from the impact. he waved a hand of 'farewell' to the ship as its doors closed and left him there. It may have been the second time Alan was deployed on his own, but it was the first time he was well and truly alone. In the back of his head he could almost hear the friendly voices of former comrades and captains telling him one thing: 'Begin operation'.

* * *

 **A.N.: After a full week's wait, 16 is here. It was quite a busy week, but that doesn't matter. Thank yo for your patience!**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	17. Chapter 17: Cutting Ties

"Cutting Ties"

Alan could feel a slight pain in his heart at the sight of the very ship he and many others once called home. The carrier had served for decades all the way back from even before the Titan Wars- not that the man had served aboard it at the time- ferrying supplies and new wares to no doubt dozens if not hundreds of new founded settlements; now the ship and all her memories were trapped on a backwater world with little chance of being free. The Pilot inched around the left side of the crash site, expecting a full garrison of Militia to be keeping out unwanted visitors. He was half right, there were a number of patrols securing the perimeter of the busted open cargo holds and hangar bays while a few Militia Crows were still being loaded with salvage and stolen gear. They must have arrived barely an hour ago consider Alan and his band of survivors encountered no such vessels leaving the crash-site, whether through dumb luck or blind fate the Pilot was simply glad none of them had even detected the I.M.C.'s arrival.

From the outskirts of what was left of nature, shrouded by a fallen tree's bushy leaves, Alan took his time to keep a memory of where each of his enemies wandered off to for their 'patrol'. However, they were still little more than a loose coalition of terrorists, outlaws, and other kinds of criminals as there was no rigid structure nor coordinated patrol routes. The Pilot even found that some pairs would indeed bump into each other while those that kicked back either were at odds with what Alan could only assume were ideological rivals or straight up enemies. Were it just those few bickering Militia grunts it would be fairly easy, but there was no telling what or who was waiting in the interior of his wrecked home.

The Pilot lowered himself with weapons at the ready should he be spotted. It was only his trusty Hammond, but it was all he needed most of the time. Carefully, Alan took his steps out of the shadows trying not to make so much as a crunch under his boot while making his way to the closest boulder. At this point cloak would make this a simple stroll, unfortunately the Pilot would have never believed to find himself in this position, opting instead to 'stick to the basics' as his fellow Pilots had called it; although their words were sometimes a little less kind than that. He kept his finger off the trigger, getting closer to the sparking wreck that loomed overhead with a shadow casting down on him. Once he was close to the supply crates and dropships Alan could finally listen in on the sloppy and careless footsteps of Militia soldiers and their complaints.

"So, the guys back in the fleet are preparing for one of the biggest fights since Demeter and we're here just rummaging through junk?" Alan heard a grunt sigh to a fellow foot soldier with a distaste for his assignment. Alan's eyes narrowed at the last word, the man ready to start a fight for the disrespect of the old ship, but knew it would be a mistake to get noticed now. His mission wasn't to kill, it was to infiltrate the crash site and nothing more.

"Hey, this thing has the same firepower as some of our best ships, and it's supposed to be a _carrier_." Another grunt defended, "Command wants its weapons salvaged if possible but seeing as that's no longer an option we have to pick at what remains. We don't even have enough equipment to fully arm our ground forces." The defender muttered his last sentence, barely audible to the Pilot dropping in on their conversation. Giving the rest of their talk little attention, Alan snuck around the ship's hull he hugged, ducking under the clear sight through the windows and made his way to its back. There was little more than a pair of men walking through the boxes of loaded scrap and salvage, everyone else must have still been inside the place searching for whatever they found valuable.

Alan weaved through the maze of boxes, crates, and lazy eyes. What the Militia lacked for in unity and true coordination, they made up for in unpredictability and will. The Pilot was nearly seen a number of times were it not for the laid-back attitudes of the Militia soldiers. In the end it wouldn't have mattered too much as he would have made it to his destination either with a trail of bodies behind him or without it. Once he arrived at the base of the ship's interior, he was glad he hadn't done the former as a lone Stryder was sitting vigil over the worksite, fortunately it was unoccupied and 'asleep' for lack of a better term, but that didn't make the I.M.C. Pilot any less comfortable. To make matters worse, the interior was full of troops picking away at the carrier's remains, Alan even heard a few grunts celebrating over looting alcohol from the rec room.

His destination was the bridge, assuming it was still intact, it was the place where everything on board the ship was connected too in some form and the communications systems would certainly be there. Of course, those too had to be working and unless he found the source of it there was no telling if it was functional or not. First, he had to traverse the many halls, corridors, and stairs if he wanted to even arrive there and there was bound to be a few hostiles to take care of.

The Pilot entered the first door on his left and inside was a long hall with a few other corridors splitting off to its right. His weapon scanned the area for so much as a single sign of movement and his finger was ready to take the shot whenever needed, but the place seemed a little quiet and barren. His boots clanked against the metal floor as he rounded a corner to find nothing but an empty hall leading to the residential area. As Alan walked through the scattered halls, a few blood splatters and remains of Spectres started to show up with bullet casings littering the floor. Evidently what few synthetic troops survived the impact fought on to their last. The Militia must have already cleaned up their casualties seeing as there were no bodies around and a few rooms have been ransacked and pillaged for whatever valuables might have been within them.

"To think we have the I.M.C. running with tail-" A voice startled Alan whom turned to identify its source with a bullet. The Militia grunt fell to his back motionless while a friend looked at the body in shock. Turning to face the Pilot, the terrorists was about to let out a scream of terror at the sight of Alan's glowing lights standing out from the dimly lit interior, but the man fired twice more to put him down. He feared the echo rang out and was caught on by the dozens of other Militia troops scattered around the ship which gave him no time to think up a plan of escape. All that was left was to hurry up and finish his mission and deal with the consequences later.

Alan rushed over to steal one of the grunts' rifles for himself before leaving the bodies at the sound of a few voices and running footsteps. Passed the torn open rooms, up the creaking stairs, and finally approaching the site of the bridge's half-functioning blast door. Squeezing past the open side, Alan now found himself at the center of an array of sparking wires, broken computers, and a shattered glass frame that stood in front of him. He can't say he had ever been up here before as the only people every in this place were crew and security. Simple ground troops like him never had any reason for a visit.

One by one, Alan had started searching for a single working console but to no avail. There was only one working terminal left as luck would have it was one with access to communications. As the Pilot tried to work with the, all seemed to be fine until one fatal message popped up on screen: 'Error'. Again, and again, the man tried to work through the missing keys and buzzing screen to get what he wanted however, it would bear no fruit. After slamming his fist down on the keyboard in anger, he tried once more to connect to any secured I.M.C. channel. Once more, it had failed. This time, after searching for the problem, the terminal had notified its user that the link to the communications array had been severed.

"So, this is it." Alan said to himself, falling back to the scarred floor beneath him, "No hope of rescue."

"That's one way to put it." A feminine voice said from the entrance. A Militia Pilot. "I don't know how you got on this ship, but I don't care." It belonged to Iori. Of course it did. The woman was ready for a fight, and no doubt so too were the many terrorists slowly making their way to Alan.

"What a coincidence."

"And here I thought I wouldn't meet you again. Murderer." She spat, arms crossed across her chest.

"You weren't the first to tell me that."

"Which part?" Iori asked, walking up to the man.

"Both." Before Alan could draw his pistol, he felt a fist crash into his arm that instinctively blocked the attack. Alan pushed Iori back and fell into a defensive stance. Once again, she made the first move, lashing out at him with a wild ferocity in each attack. She was better than this, but perhaps she was consumed by the fiery vengeance in her blood. Iori went for a kick but Alan managed to grab her ankle and threw her to the ground with a grunt from the turncoat pilot. She drew her knife, slashing at Alan's leg who had barely escaped with a graze across his hamstring. The sharp pain brought his leg down, giving ample time for Iori to rise up and start with a downward thrust of her knife, but the I.M.C. Pilot was ready, grabbing her wrist and throwing her over his shoulder and twisting the knife from her hand. The woman pulled a pin on one of her arc-grenades, electrifying both of them in the process. Alan stumbled back, shaking off the twitching in his hands. His helmet's visor was still too distorted to be much use even if it would only last a few seconds at most so Alan pulled it off and tossed it to the side just in time for Iori to go for a jab. After wrapping his arm around her own, Alan found that she too removed her helmet to reveal the black hair that reached to her shoulders and dark eyes staring at him with murderous intent. She kicked Alan forward and away from her lunging forward for another strike only this time it would cut through Alan's left shoulder. Alan spun and elbowed her across the cheek which once again threw the woman to the ground. Alan himself was a little worried about his subconscious attack, but resumed his guard when Iori looked back at him with blood trickling down the edge of her lip. The man heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching and dived out of the way of his former comrade's attack, pulling the pin off of one of his grenades and throwing it to the bridge's entrance doors. After a combined yell and an explosion, he was hit in the chest by a round house that sent him back a few feet. Alan pulled himself to his feet in order to avoid being pounced on by his foe, unsheathing his own knife in the process.

He could see it now, the old days of training where rivalries were settled with knife fights. The wounds were never serious but they sure did hurt. All that was missing was a crowd of their fellow trainees, a veteran Pilot watching over the two, and finally the welcoming sand of the training grounds with a sun shining overhead. Alan was pulled back into reality as he deflected a stab and made a slash across Iori's side who had let out a hiss from the cut. Her constant attacks were starting to wear her down as her breaths became ragged and heavy, Alan on the other hand was keeping himself steady, taking his time with the fight instead of trying to go for a quick kill. One last time, Iori charged forward, trying to go for a stab however this time Alan had grabbed her wrist and drove his elbow throw her own and broke her arm with an agonizing crack and ear-piercing scream. The I.M.C. Pilot took her knife and drove it into Iori's stomach, kicking her back toward the empty window frame and drawing his gun to fire at her twice. The woman, still clinging onto life with threads to spare, looked back at Alan whom dropped his knife and rushed over to grabbed her by the collar before she could fall from the bridge. Alan could still see the daggers in her eyes that desperately wanted him dead. "I hate you, Alan." She coughed, pulling the knife from her stomach with her good arm and cutting herself loose from Alan's grasp. The man watched as Iori fell from the bridge's window, her gaze vicious until the very end where her back met the metal hull and likely shattered her spine and skull from the impact. She was dead. Alan looked at the tuft of green cloth in his hand, letting it go for the gentle breeze to carry it to some unknown destination.

After dealing with a few straggling grunts that still tried to enter the bridge, Alan had picked up and held Iori's helmet in his hands. The Pilot wandered over to where she fell and set the expensive piece of hardware down as a final resting place for its owner, even if it means nothing to anyone else. Now there was only two other people left to deal with.

* * *

 **A.N.: Notta**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	18. Chapter 18: Knight and Savior

"Knight and Savior"

Alone against an untold number of Militia forces wasn't the kind of situation Alan wanted to find himself in. He had no communications to call for help, a Titan was waiting for him in the open hangar bay he entered, and by now the terrorists have already called for help. It was fortunate that the Hornet fighters the Militia so lovingly used weren't VTOL capable else his plan to hunker down in the bridge would have come to an hour long ago. Still, with all the bodies around the entrance there was no one else willing to breach and enter so instead his enemies opted to starve him out. It was a good thing he got some sleep and a few field-rations on him on the way to the _Solaris_ else now would be a good time to give up.

With a rifle trained on the broken steel door, the Pilot had begun formulating some sort of plan to get him out of this bind however the 'safest' option was still a deadly one. He could very well charge head first and fight his way past an untold number of grunts and that Titan below or he could make the jump outside and try to get around without cover or a place to hide; that was assuming he didn't make a slip and fall to his death like Iori.

"This is Captain Alan Stassov to all I.M.C. channels, is there anyone out there? Over." He called through his helmet's equipment. It was a futile effort as the man knew the helmet's range was limited on its own and on top of that there was no telling if anyone was even alive, let alone have the strength to rescue the stranded Pilot. Then again, the Militia could be jamming everything in relation to I.M.C. channels in worst case scenario, making the whole attempt rather moot.

There was no response on the other end, only static. Not even his small team of survivors called in. Alan hoped they at least weren't in any kind of trouble, he wasn't sure he could stomach the responsibility of sending his allies to their deaths; not purposefully anyways. He knew it was just wishful thinking during these tough times to believe everyone could get out unscathed, it's what the Militia taught him during their bombing campaigns, and again after the destruction of Demeter. He could remember the latter so clearly too, the horrified and wide-eyed expressions of shocked and petrified grunts and Pilots looking down at the burning planet, seeing just how far the revolutionaries-turned-extremists were willing to go to kill the Core Worlds. It was something out of a science-fiction, the power and willingness to destroy an entire world _just to defeat an enemy_. It was a good thing they were stuck on this side of the frontier, for Alan couldn't bear to return and see the terrified expressions of the core world populace, telling them that the I.M.C.'s effort in restoring peace to the frontier had failed.

'But it's not over yet.' Alan thought to himself. The Pilot abandoned his position and ran to the broken glass frame. He had only one shot of this. Alan jumped into the air, his feet now hovering over the steep drop where the body of his old squadmate rested, and twisted his hips so that the view of the whole bridge was now in front of him. With his only boost, the Pilot propelled himself just high enough for his boots to make contact with the short surface which in turn pushed him up a little further so that his hands could finally grasp the roof's edge with his life. With one more push from his gear the Pilot found himself on the slanted top that was the head of the carrier. Before even allowing himself to rest Alan had pushed his legs in a sprint to the flatter spine of the ship, only falling to his hands and rolling to his back to take in the stunt he just pulled.

It was only seconds Alan allowed himself to rest before rising to his feet again. There was still the fight ahead with the group of Militia and the Stryder Titan that stood between him and a clean escape into the wilderness. After that was anyone's guess. Approaching the edge of the ship's hull, Alan cautiously took a peek down to see what he was in store for. Apparently, the terrorists had still waited for him at the bridge seeing as there was no sign of life below. The man took a deep breath, stepping just off the ledge so that the side of the carrier was still within reach. He then kicked off its side and in his leap for freedom he could hear the sound of gunfire echoing from behind him. It was a good thing the few Crows and crates were available as cover else there would be no other alternative except for making a mad dash into the jungle. 'The Crows!' Alan yelled in his head. They're old I.M.C. designs anyways so not only did he have a means to control them but on each of those ships was also communication equipment that was far superior to his simple helmet radio. They may not have been as advanced as those fielded by I.M.C. Goblins but it was the best he had at his disposal.

After sliding across the roof of the Militia dropship and skidding to a halt on the dirt ground below, Alan had turned back to face the carrier. He took aim with his rifle and placed a few shots into two close grunts who were fast approaching him. He could hold this position for a while but the Stryder already ruined that plan. Alan hid in the safety of one of the Crows, jumping to the controls and sealing himself in with some button pushing and a data-knife to override security on the locked systems. He was safe for now while the Militia and their supporting Titan tried to pry open the doors with brute force but the Pilot knew only the Titan or heavy weapons could have a remote chance of succeeding.

From one of the side windows Alan saw that the Stryder was operating on a similar fashion of an auto-titan. It enhanced giving it greater autonomy and he only knew of one other person that used such a chip: Iori. That was her Titan, perhaps she disembarked to take in the memories the _Solaris_ held aboard it, but now was not a time to think about it.

Ironically, despite being called a 'Pilot', Alan had little knowledge of flying this thing. Perhaps it might have been a good idea to pay attention during the short lesson during training. He then tried for communications, it was mostly a standard setup as most old technologies were and better yet had worked without flaw. After entering the correct frequencies, Alan took off his helmet and replaced it by picking up the pilot's headset strung on the headrest. "This is Captain Alan Stassov on all I.M.C. frequencies. If anyone can read this I am trapped at the _Solaris_ 's crash site with a Titan and Militia at my doorstep! I don't know how long the shields will last. I repeat: If anyone can read this, I am trapped at the crash site and need immediate aid!" Alan yelled as he watched the shield counter on the ship's display slowly dwindle to its last few bars of blue. He waited, and waited, pleading with lady luck to give him some way of escape. She must have taken an interest in toying with him for her amusement considering all that has happened since they first arrived in the system so now should be no exception to his rollercoaster luck.

"-acting Captai-," Alan grit his teeth in a little worry and fear from static that lingered for a solid two seconds, "I ackn-. -ay again-? There is- -terference." Someone from the other end said.

'Acknowledge, say again.' Alan pieced together in his head before shouting into the mic again, "Solaris! Need aid! Solaris! Evac!" He said to get something clear through, "I am surrounded by Militia forces and requesting assistance. The gunfire stopped as the shield integrity meter flashed red with 'warning' flashing along with it, "I'm going to hold them off for as long as I can," Alan said before loading his Hammond and putting on his helmet, "Let's keep a count this time, shall we?" He asked himself. If he was going to knock at deaths door yet again, might as well make his own fun from it.

Alan took back his knife and lowered the back hatch open. The Pilot already saw two Militia grunts taken by surprise by its opening suddenly and shot them both. That started it off at '2'. He couldn't sit still for a second as the shell from the Stryder's weapon exploded right where he would have been had he decided to pick up one of the terrorists' rifles. Ducking and weaving through the crates and killing two more grunts. '4'. Each shell had destroyed a crate full of valuable supplies but the Titan did not care for such small things, focusing instead on killing the one that had slain its owner. Alan needed a new gun for himself, and there was only one way he could figure out how without allowing himself to be a sitting target. The Pilot ran toward a squad of grunts who were all still running to positions after a tiring sprint up and down the stairs to the bridge. The lone I.M.C. operative killed another, sliding to pick up the dead man's rifle without losing any speed to himself. The thing about these auto-titans, even the advanced ones, is that they never could get a clean kill on a Pilot moving at high speed and unpredictable turns and slides.

While the Stryder relentlessly chased after him, ammo for the cannon was starting to run dry and so too were the number of Militia personnel able to fight him. Jumping to the side of a wall and climbing onto the angry Titan, Alan was about to pull its hatch open but familiar smoke had made it clear that he would not be able to. The cannon fire stopped, and the back end of the giant weapon slammed into the side of the ship's hull. The Stryder had run out of ammo finally, giving the Pilot the chances to finish off the Militia still in play with the last of his rifle's ammunition. Playing scavenger was part of the fun of refusing to bring a primary weapon with you, stealing others' weapons, using it against them, it was just the same tactic the Militia used so why not him too? It was challenging too and an any anti-Titan weapon would usually slow Pilots down, especially if there was no armor deployed on the battlefield.

One gun after the other Alan had climbed aboard the Stryder's back, barely able to do much damage as it had kicked him off like a wild mule each time. Still by now his sensors showed that it was on its last breath just as he was, one more clip should be enough to bring the beast down. The Stryder punched at Alan who had managed to avoid it and land on its the back of the giant's hand, unfortunately it knew what he was doing and launched him off outside the _Solaris_ 's bay. The Pilot rolled in the dirt and came to a halt when his momentum was killed by the painful slide against the earth. Out of breath, Alan pulled himself up and looked at the menacing Titan that seemed to have a bottle of rage within it; an unquenchable thirst for revenge for its fallen master. Fitting. Even without eyes it wasn't the first time that gaze had been glared at Alan, nor would it be the last. He tried to run again but his legs failed him, they were too tired for him to rely on. He took his pistol in his right hand, and his last grenade in the left. "I suppose a machine _can_ feel emotion then." Alan panted, unpinning the hook of his grenade and throwing it over the Titan. In a cloud of smoke and small burst of fire the Titan was surprise by the odd choice of weapon, but once the smoke cleared it was obvious it did little to stop its rage. Whatever damage the explosive had done was not enough and the Pilot sat back on his knees. His spacefaring home crashed on a moon like this, half if not most of his friends were dead, and still he didn't get to say goodbye to his closest companion whom had been with him since the beginning. he opened fire the hulking machine that took its sweet time. They both knew he wasn't going anywhere. The chamber of his old and reliable Hammond P2011 slowly emptied until at last he heard clicks instead of tiny bangs. The Titan looked down at the I.M.C. Pilot whom simply looked at death back with an accepting grin under his helmet. Before either could make another move, before a metal fist or foot could crush the Pilot, two consecutive booms from two cannons came from their side. The explosion of the first shot forced the already damaged Stryder to stumbled from the impact, but the second one was an armor-piercing round, tearing through metal and making a clean exit through the light chassis' front and out its back. The owner of these angelic weapons that had saved his life? A Paladin Tank.

* * *

 **A.N.: Old technology to the rescue!**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	19. Chapter 19: Chain of Command

"Chain of Command"

Sat back with a heavy breath, Alan looked at the burning wreck of a Stryder and the crew of the Paladin that had saved him boasting about their latest kill. He wasn't sure how the crew themselves managed to find him or receive his message, but either way he owed them now. Maybe they were just in the area however, it was just so out of place for an all but obsolete piece of hardware to be travelling across the planet without- A number of friendly dropships swarmed the area, from the Goblins that have become a face of the I.M.C. themselves to the lesser known Phantoms that did much more work behind the scenes and in the air. The Pilot, after seeing the remnants of his fellow I.M.C. surround the ship and consequently him, fell to his back once more to rest the fatigue from long and difficult journey he had made since the refinery. One of the Goblins in particular was escorted by two separate phantoms and another transport, the lead ship dismissing its protectors as it hovered meters in the air over Alan.

"Pilot, are you well?" He heard the familiar, feminine, mechanized, and monotone voice with a light Russian accent to it. Anya seems to have survived, probably one of the giant Titan-sized pods that fell right before the _Solaris_ broke through the atmosphere. It was at least good to hear she was still around though he could only confirm it through his helmet's radio.

"Yeah," Anya's owner groaned, "Could be better."

"That is unfortunate?" She tried to comprehend his contradictory statement, "I am en route to your location, E.T.A. five minutes, but I must resupply first if that is acceptable." His favorite Stryder informed.

"Go ahead."

From the sound of engines cutting out after landing to the footsteps of grunts and metal heels of Spectres taking control of the crash-site, Alan found himself at ease when one of the dropships landed close to him. Never would he have expected Vanessa to be hiding within, defended by two squads of grunts. Someone must have definitely climbed the ladder to have warranted fully armed guards, or someone else could have died, either way. With his legs still unwilling to respond to his will until they recovered Alan could do anything else except look up to the raven-haired woman whom had a bandaged wrapped around her head and upper right arm. A squad of grunts were dismissed from her side while the rest dragged the Pilot into the ship before finding themselves ordered to secure the perimeter for any potential straggling Militia who had escaped the sights of I.M.C. guns.

The pilot of the craft mentioned something about returning to the mess hall to rescue a certain 'morale boosting device', which was promptly allowed by the woman as she watched him- and a few others who shared a similar idea- make a brave dash toward the crashed carrier. Vanessa herself was sat while Alan laid on his back across the multiple seats with his head directly toward the woman in charge. "I suppose I have your Titan to thank, Alan. Don't know what might have happened had it not found me first." She said, looking down at the exhausted man. He was silent, staring up at her through that glowing blue visor of his. "Alan?" She called out, a little worried now about his lack of response.

The Pilot took off his helmet, dropping it haphazardly to the ship's floor as his eyes kept their attention to the woman above, "I'm just glad you're here and okay." He mentioned with a soft, genuine smile, for a change.

"Mostly. As for you, you seem to have gone through some rough patch." Vanessa suggested,

"Just the usual, part of the job like I said." The Pilot chuckled, "And you, what's up with you ordering everyone around?"

"Chain of command fell upon me. Captain went down with his ship, everyone else is either too injured or not able enough to take command or have met," She paused for a moment, eyes darting to the side to think of how to phrase it, "An unfortunate end'."

"Everyone? Surely there must have been some other officers who could have taken control of the remaining forces." Lieutenant was barely near next in line for command, that combined with the sheer number of people an I.M.C. carrier can hold meant that a lot of people stood in line for the chain of command.

"There were, you had your own little adventure and I did too. There was a lot of tension and infighting as the group grew bigger, only two others were able and higher ranking than me, but they're taken care of." Vanessa said which took Alan back by surprise, he never knew the girl had it in her.

"You mean you uh-" Alan started before being cut off.

"Don't beat around the bush Alan, yes I killed them, the subordinates under them were given amnesty given our, 'situation'." She stated with serious look to her face and arms crossed across her chest. He should have guessed he would receive a glare like that, it's not like the woman trained for these kinds' situations for nothing

"Mind if I ask 'why'?" Alan asked, trying to sit up from his position however, Vanessa wouldn't let him, preferring to keep him on his back and by her side throughout the conversation. "I mean they're officers..."

"Well that prickly cactus of a 'second in command' whom we all were wary about," She started with finger quotes, "Plotted to hand us all over to the Militia, probably for immunity and a ticket off of this moon, probably a double agent, either way, an execution was required. The second one right above me wanted us to devolve into raiders, stealing and plundering the countryside settlements and urban centers. You can see why we the two of us didn't see eye to eye. Unfortunately, there were a few others who were willing to follow him." She explained the short story.

"So, what happened to him?"

"'Her'," Vanessa corrected, "Well when you have the only Titan around and when the only people with weapons capable of combating it effectively are also on your side, there's no one willing stand in the way of a said Titan without good reason. I know she may have had the best intentions at heart, but the sudden responsibility and the experience of losing everything in the blink of an eye took their toll on the person for the worst. And I will not stand to become the very thing we have been demonized to be." Vanessa finished somberly, Alan could only guess she knew the people who were killed, either by Militia who tracked down the isolated survivors or by her own hands.

After some time catching up, there some quiet time between them, that is until a Stryder came and stomped toward the Goblin which startled its two occupants. "Pilot, I am currently at sixty percent hull integrity. I recommend using the _Solaris_ 's equipment to finish and complete repairs."

"Anya!" Alan exclaimed in a sudden fright, a hand over his heart as his peaceful, quiet rest was interrupted. "At least give a warning next time." He said, calming back down.

"Affirmative Pilot. Greetings Captain, I did not expect to find you here." The Stryder said, kneeling beside the ship with watchful eyes scanning the sky above.

"Wait, what?" Alan said, waking Vanessa up from her nap by standing to his feet which hadn't been one of the brightest ideas he had as the woman looked at him with disapproving eyes. "Vanessa, I knew you had command but what's with this jump in rank?"

Vanessa scrubbed her eyes awake and brushed herself off, "Well I suppose you're fit enough to be on your feet by now. It's just like you heard, I may be an 'acting captain'," She began, standing up with a helping hand from the Pilot, "But to you and everyone else here, it's 'Captain' understood? I thought you would have already known that."

"I did I just, guess it took me by surprise."

"Like most things." She teased with a finger to his chest, before grabbing his arm, "Come on, the Militia are preoccupied with keeping an eye out for the rest of our fleet, and I'm not about to waste too much of this peaceful time. Plus, I have no doubts in my mind questions are going to be asked once we're all aboard."

~ (-) ~

After a short celebration for reclaiming the _Solaris_ with whatever luxuries could be scavenged, orders and logistical planning were given out by the new captain. Alan always knew her as a person who prefers the simple tasks that are out of the way yet, her she was organizing and performing feats he thought too important for her liking. Just as the Militia were doing before them, the I.M.C. forces began hauling everything they could carry into Goblins which were only held back by Vanessa's reluctance to send them off alone, or even with fighters deemed too valuable to use just yet. Meanwhile the Pilot himself had nothing much else to do than to follow the woman around in place of her armed escort. He reunited with his small band whom welcomed him back, though apparently shortly after delivering Alan to the aft of the ship, they stumbled across this large group. Just his luck, always fluctuation up and down. If being left alone with his allies able to find safety in more numbers without him was 'bad luck', then he was certainly thankful that the encounter with Iori's Stryder ended with 'good'. Edgar didn't have much to say except for a greeting and 'welcome back', only finding peace in reloading a large pile of magazines one bullet at a time after giving in to his body's need for sleep. Alan couldn't blame him for it though.

"So, any word from engineering, Cap'n?" Alan asked as Vanessa kept herself busy with handling orders and having a data pad displaying their current inventory and queued assignments.

"Well seeing as it's the only Titan we currently have at our disposal, the engineers are doing their best to get it to '100%'. With the whole ship now being extra spare parts on top of the already limited supply we used to have, I'm sure they'll be done by nightfall. Needless to say, I should get to the bridge and extract whatever information is left and destroy what can't be taken."

"Right about that..."

"What did you do?" Vanessa questioned, stopping what she was doing and looking up at the man, "Pick your words carefully, because if anything happened to those terminals-"

"Oh! No, no, no, nothing like that. I just mean that there was a fight in there." Vanessa wasn't buying it, "I'll just show you." Alan sighed, taking the lead.

It didn't take long to walk up the same set of stairs from not too long ago and at the very top was the blackened char from an explosion with a few bodies still lingering about. The blast doors to the bridge was still half functioning as expected and as the two stepped over the bodies Alan expected her to be somewhat repulsed by the sight of maimed corpses but it would seem she did not care for it or was just good at hiding it. Inside were a few more bodies of Militia foot soldiers, riddled with bullets from Alan's stolen R-101 also not too long ago. After carefully trying not to step in the blood and over the bodies, Vanessa had noticed the green and orange helmet sitting over by the broken window frame. She wandered over and picked up the helmet and inspected it after setting down her data pad on one of the nearby consoles. "Who'd this belong to?" She wondered before Alan interrupted her line of thoughts.

"Iori." Alan said, catching his companion's attention. She set the helmet back down as the Pilot caught up to her, "Even since she found out about me being the cause of Chris's death, she hated me with every fiber of her being."

"And her body?" Vanessa asked. Alan brought her over to a safe distance where they could see far below was the Pilot in question's body. Still where it had been left. The woman let go of the Militia Pilot's helmet, hearing it roll a little way away from the two of them as they mourned the loss of a former comrade and friend. "It's not your fault Alan," She comforted with a gentle tone in her voice, "I'm sorry for your loss."

* * *

 **A.N.: Notice: There will be no update Friday. If you're reading this after the fact then I guess you can ignore the notice!**

 **Have a happy Thanksgiving (week?)! If you don't celebrate it or it's not that time of year then I hope you have a good day!**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	20. Chapter 20: Retaliation

"Retaliation"

With their once beautiful home lived in for one last night, the survivors of said ship and many other I.M.C. personnel set off with loaded crates of supplies and other memories of their spacefaring home. Whether it was only photos or an entire bag of belongings, no one left the fallen carrier without something to cherish and remember it by. Of course, the ones keeping a watchful eye throughout the night stood on edge at the fear of an incoming Militia raid that had fortunately failed to turn up, but nevertheless they could very well be wiped out in an instant should the terrorist fleet in orbit choose to do so. That was why it was decided to abandon the wreckage and find a new place to lay low or at least shelter against the storm that would no doubt come.

By the next morning's rise above the horizon, the last presence of the I.M.C. (And any useful supplies they could carry), were vacant from the area before the Militia had arrived in force to assess the situation. There were still plenty of other stranded soldiers fighting for their lives against the radical insurgent movement and they would not be forgotten by their comrades. As it stood, they were the largest group on the hot and humid moon which made them a threat however, with safety in numbers there was no chance the Militia would risk such an assault on them without taking heavy losses.

Alan was sat bored from the long journey to a remote 'island' facility, which was in reality an old weapons testing facility before being ransacked and hopefully abandoned by Militia forces prior to the fall of Medusine. It had just enough space for what was coming its way, if not a little cramped and lacking an actually bay for their one Stryder to take refuge in, plus being situated on a hill with their back against a rock wall made any Militia assault rather difficult to lodge out the already stubborn defenders the I.M.C. would be. Still, it felt like they had traveled half-way around the rock before anyone in the Goblin actually spoke up about it. "So, any word on anyone else?" Alan asked, turning to Vanessa next to him whom worked tirelessly on trying to keep track of the small band of resistance. They numbered six transports in total with two Phantoms being their small escort, four of the former transports had been cramped with as many things as they possibly could fit while everyone else was packed into the remaining two ships. Were it not for the already heavy lifting the Phantoms had to do with a Titan and a Paladin, they could have very well stripped the _Solaris_ clean of what was left or simply not had to deal with cramped conditions that they found themselves in right now. The pilots certainly weren't happy with the near critical capacity load they had to carry, but no one had the strength to start making arguments.

"Contact with the fleet has been spotty at best, even then we can only hear them. We are unable to utter so much as a word without any long-range equipment." Vanessa informed her friend, eyes still scanning the screen or whatever it was she was doing, "As for everyone else trapped here, not a word. We're on our own for now." She sighed, her brown, stressed-looking eyes taking a break and resting at the sight of Alan. "Worst-case scenario is that we eventually run out of supplies and are forced to surrender or be killed."

"And best-case?" Alan asked, trying to find some semblance of hope in the troubling scenario they found themselves in.

"Our friends in space decide we're worth-while to pick up and leave. The fleet doesn't have enough fuel for the long journey around and this little moon is the fastest way to escape and find a place with decent fuel reserves. Catch is, rescuing us may be considered 'too costly' to our Vice-Admiral's standards." She said, speaking of the leader of the fleet with a little discontent as she didn't approve of the machine's methods and strategies, but they were effective and were rarely costly in lives ironically enough, "However, what I'm thinking is that if we were to cause enough damage, or put up enough of a fight, we could essentially make ourselves 'too valuable an asset' to be lost to the Militia. I'm confident that there are still other Pilots on the ground somewhere probably doing the same as us, rallying and refusing to give up." She started, now speaking more to everyone else instead of just the Pilot next to her, "We certainly are not going to let them down during this hour of crisis. Let's get on the ground, crush any insurgent that stands in our way, and only then will we return to the fleet victorious!" She yelled, standing up from her seat. She weaved passed the troops in order stand at the ship's exit, "Pilot, what is our status?"

"L.Z. is clear Captain, ready to deploy on your orders." The Goblin's pilot shouted from up ahead.

"You all heard him," Vanessa pulled the door open with a rush of air blowing into the crowded hold, "Fight for a place to stay." She gestured for the grunts to exit with a wave of her hand and by the pairs they hopped from the ship and onto the ground, securing the immediate area before calling for their squadmates to join them and separate into their own squads. Alan too put on his helmet and was about to leave but a gentle hand pressed against his chest, "Not you. You and I are taking a little trip. Anya," She said into an earpiece, "Support our forces and use weapons sparingly." The Pilot was about to ask 'how', but was stifled when remember how the two did need to work together for a time no matter how short.

"Where are we headed?" Alan asked as t

* * *

he ramp closed up and the ship started to rise once again.

"Always questioned with you," She chuckled, "On top of this place there is a system of communications arrays, whether they work or not I'm not sure but I want them online and ready at a moment's notice." She instructed, taking Alan back to his seat while she instructed the pilot where to go, "Besides, I always need a guardian at my side and who better than the best Pilot I know?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm the _only_ Pilot you actually know." Alan corrected, head to the side in confusion.

"And that's the punchline." She finished, leaving the man to contemplate whether that was meant to be an insult or a compliment. Regardless, he readied himself once more for yet another battle.

It didn't take long to arrive at the top of the plateau, there was situated three large disc-like dishes that looked as though they had seen some age. Besides being a little rusted, one was starting to be filled with sand and the other two stood just as they had been left however long ago. Perhaps it was indeed abandoned, but it was better to always be prepared for even a single enemy Pilot who got the jump on him would mean death for both him and Vanessa.

After letting the ship depart, the two were left alone with the sound of battle below finally starting. It would seem the Militia were indeed still defending every inch of soil, that or they left behind those outdated Spectres. Either way wasn't any of Alan's concern as he approached the small, desolate outpost with Vanessa in tow, whom was still keeping track of the battle with a laptop to ensure things went smoothly. Meanwhile the Pilot was forcing his way through one of the doors that had been stubborn and refusing to open. With one weighted kick Alan forced his way through and into the darkened building with even the emergency lights being burned out. Were it not for the windows letting in some sunlight the place would have been pitch-black. Rust had formed on the floor and started creeping up the walls while dust particles filled the air and shimmered in the sun's warm rays.

"Certainly, was left to rot that's for sure." Alan commented, holding his uniform a little higher as one would to cover their mouth and nose from a stench. It was a good thing he had a helmet, though after remember that he wasn't alone he offered it to the woman whom politely declined. Instead she held a sleeve to her face to keep from breathing in the stagnant air.

"Let's just hope we don't actually find something rotting," Vanessa said with a few coughs and together they explored the ruin in search of the mainframe or a switch, or whatever they needed to get the power back on. There wasn't much to talk about between the newly appointed Captain watching a local map with small blue dots and the Pilot who searched up and down every room to find a breaker at least. Of course, the two would occasionally open up about the state of affairs.

"Any idea why the Militia haven't gone after us yet? Aside from the potential losses." Alan asked as he finally found the power station covered in more dust.

"Nothing else I suppose, it would be like fighting a multiple-front war. The I.M.C. fleet is waiting for an opportunity and now with pockets of our forces striking at random and without actual coordination, the best the Militia could do is stay on the defensive until an overwhelming force aids them." True enough the Militia probably didn't have enough resources to chase after a remnant, though powerful, fleet with so much going on. Not to mention the other words that needed Militia support and attention which strained the organization's logistics as they had not been used to such wide-scale operations in over a decade. "Other than that, I'm sure we'll eventually come out on top, they've been beaten once in the Titan-Wars and they can be beaten again." Vanessa said, with full confidence in their ability to bring the frontier back to order.

"If only that were so simple." Alan muttered, finally able to bring the console at his fingertips to life with the aid of his data-knife inserted into one of its ports. One by one the lights came back on and eventually even air circulation was returning to clean out the dusty interior. "Speaking of which what was it you needed to do?"

"To rally every surviving I.M.C. member to this location, it's where we'll make our final stand and should the plan succeed, we can all get out of here."

* * *

 **A.N.: A little short, but the week has become quite busy. This will have to do for now unfortunately. I know where to go, but not sure how to get there~  
**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	21. Chapter 21: The Third Reunion

"The Third Reunion"

New faces trickled in only by the handful with remnants of the I.M.C.'s ground forces that were stranded either showing up quite literally at the facility's doorstep or being retrieved with whatever spare transport their new Captain could muster and send out. That's not to say their attempts haven't gone unnoticed as the damage to the Goblins were becoming more frequent and apparent and with the lack of adequate supplies to patch up the holes, there was little they could do about it. Even more stressing was the bits of information that trickled in that Militia hunting teams increased in their numbers, either capturing personnel at the wishes of their command or in one of the worse cases, slaughtering the entire team of survivors, not even combatants, right before the rescuers' eyes. Whether the terrorist fleet in orbit was simply too busy to deal with them or was waiting for them to rally for one decisive strike was unknown, but either way, banding together was their best chance for survival as had been stated time and time again. That is until there were a few calls for help.

Lately, over the course of a few days, there had been sparse reports of even small settlements broadcasting on all frequencies for assistance again Militia occupation. It appeared that even those who didn't want to be part of the conflict found themselves dragged into it. Dozens of troops were itching to throw a punch back at the Militia, and this was just the excuse to do it.

"I know it's the right thing to do, but we can barely supply ourselves as it is, even with the good-will and occasional gifts those towns offer us for our help." Vanessa said with fingers rubbing against her head. The lack of sleep with all the preparations had started to wear the woman down however, she pressed on. At an old, rusted table, surrounded by a handful of grunts there to discuss their next plan of action. Two sides heavily clashed, one bent on keeping together at all costs with their supplies being precious, and the other demanding to do their job in protecting the populace. Needless to say, there was no better side in the debate.

"Captain, I'm aware of the situation, but need I remind you those are still _our_ people."

"I'm well aware Corporal," She said with a cold look in her eyes, trying to remain in control of the whole situation, "But if something were to happen with the away team, we could not send help."

"Which is why, our forces should stay concentrated here!" A squad Sergeant exclaimed with hands pressed against the table opposite of the Corporal."

Alan was only there to mediate the two groups, unsure of even what to say at Vanessa's pleading eyes when they turned to him. He wasn't a leader, not in the true sense of the word. As both sides argued with which option to take, their meeting was interrupted by a medic with a wounded soldier being held up, "Captain! New information from Granfast!" He stammered with a heavy breath, easing the wounded soldier in a spare seat. With a whisper of relief that only Alan caught, Vanessa turned her attention to the newcomers.

"Go ahead." She permitted, finally able to take a break from the previous conflict.

"The MCS Determination is stationed at the drydock-city of Granfast according to Greene. We found him wandering on a routine patrol to investigate a Crow's crash site." The medic informed, allowing the drowsy man a chance to explain what he found.

"And what use is this to us right now?" Vanessa questioned, crossing her arms and raising a brow.

"Two- Two captured Pilots on board and a dozen or so others, ground forces and- regular personnel included." He let out. Sitting back in the creaking chair for a rest. The room fell silent for moment, thinking about the bountiful gain they could make, or the loss they may have to endure. "Ship is offline for maintenance and repairs. Being used for nothing more than a temporary prison right now. No Titans or major defenses when I left. Unsure now."

"Then it's settled, we'll go rescue them at your word, Captain." The Sergeant stated, looking to the dark-haired woman.

"Oh, so now you'll go on a rescue op?" The Corporal spoke.

"No." Vanessa intervened

"'No'?" The Sergeant echoed.

"We will not show a preference to those who call for our help." Vanessa said much to everyone's dismay, but before anyone could protest she continued on with her mind fully made up, "Fill our ships with volunteers only to help out those civilians," She ordered with satisfied nod from the Corporal, "We can't risk valuable manpower if we fail, so Alan, as our only Pilot you will be the one sent to break our allies out from behind bars. You're the best we can offer for this mission; if you'll take it of course.

"I've never refused your instructions before Cap', I'll get our people out safe and sound. You can bet on that." Alan replied, taking his helmet in hands and putting it on while everyone else scrambled with their new orders.

~ (-) ~

Alone, Alan checked his gear and Hammond to ensure that he was fully prepared for the task at hand. The sun had started drowning over the horizon as it always done despite whatever the inhabitants of this moon did, from fighting, trading, or whatever it was they felt like. Him? He was going to break into a full Militia vessel and rescue his people. It was almost like that time on the Washington, only that time ended in an unplanned explosion and crash. Regardless, he had to keep his mind clear for this mission and if he was lucky enough it would be accomplished without a hitch in his plans.

"Pilot, this is close as I can get you without getting spotted by sentries, Granfast should be a click north from here." The transport's pilot informed, pulling the ship into a landing somewhere in the outskirts of town.

"What if plan 'A' doesn't work?" Alan asked before stepping off the ship.

"Just steal a ship, do whatever to get out of there. I'll try to keep in contact but I don't know if those Militia are keeping an ear out for us anyways. Good luck!" He said as Alan dropped from the safety of the ship. As the Goblin ascended and took off, the night sky gave way to a glow of lights in the distance. It was the city surrounded by a fuzzy cloud of yellow-ish light. It would be a long walk, but the thought of seeing civilization again that wasn't wilderness, outposts, or the interior of a ship was encouraging to say the least.

Once Alan arrived at the first building, he used his jump-kit to climb upward, stopping to survey the area when he reached the roof that was five stories up. Looking around he saw the dirt and gravel streets, if one could call them that, lined with lights and people still going about the waning hours of their day. The metal buildings looked haphazardly built together with some even being situated right between larger establishments while satellite dishes and antenna were on almost every rooftop. In the distance, passed the rows of spotlights, was the MCS Determination shining bright like trophy on display. The converted civilian ship was an old cargo-hauler, a smaller class but it was evident that some of its cargo bays had been converted into makeshift hangars by its insurgent owners with a few ships traveling in and from unknown places. Now wasn't the time to analyze the outdated ship though, Alan needed to get moving. So, he did, traversing the rooftops with minimal use of his gear as to avoid being detected by his jump-kit's easily noticeable flare. His boots clunked against the metallic surface with the occasional slide letting him narrowly miss hitting his head against a billboard or two. Closer he came to closing in on the cargo-ship.

Finally, he was only meters away from the dry-dock, dropping down from his elevated position to sneak among the crates and machinery. The loud buzzing of saws, rivets, and other technical things hurt to listen to, but fortunately they were somewhat deafened by both distance and Alan's helmet however useless it was at muffling the noise.

The man found himself at a troubling hurdle in his plan to board the ship as he couldn't find a suitable way to safely enter. The only thing he could think to do was keep against the side of the ship's hull and hope he wouldn't fall to his death, but that involved finding a crane or something close to the ship already. As luck would have it, one was still holding up a damaged piece of armor plating. Suspended in air begging to be used. Alan took advantage of this, climbing the vacant crane after seeing its user taking a smoke break with a few other coworkers.

Now high up in the air and even above the city's highest building, Alan felt the wind blow against him, almost nudging him closer to the edge as if attempting to kill him. Refusing to give up after coming this far, the Pilot climbed just a little high until he was now on top of the crane itself, watching his step as he ran to the end of the precarious walkway. Alan suddenly dropped, his feet barely making contact with the plating as his jump-kit kept him upright and moving. With his last step he made a jump toward the opening that was one of the open cargo bays, falling to a slide as he let friction stop his fast momentum. Which was also strait into a stacked pile of empty barrels that each came down with a crash and thud when they collided with the floor. No doubt someone heard.

"Dammit Garry, it takes a long time to stack those up!" He heard someone yell in frustration, "Quit knocking them over for the last time or I'll stuff you in one!" The unknown man said.

Alan kept quiet, picking himself up and looking around for a place to hide. The only place he could think of was to get moving and leave the hold entirely. As he did so, he listened in on the man who went on a tangent about the troublemaker he believed to have caused the commotion. Running to a nearby stairwell, Alan drew his knife ready for hostiles should they get in his way. The place had been far cleaner and brighter than he had expected. His only experience was seeing a Militia vessel's interior crowded with boxes of supplies haphazardly shoved in corners and against walls to save space. That along with the civilians the Militia loved to use as human shields, then claim the I.M.C. had killed them with malice, was what made the sight of this ship all the more surprising.

The infiltrator inched his way through the narrow corridors, checking his corners for any sign of life or movement, but turning up empty handed save a few exceptions. He could only guess that the crew were on leave. The problem now was to find out where the prisoners would be kept. It was a cargo-transport after all, so there was no official brig in its design to begin with so Alan was starting from nothing.

Walking along the halls, Alan came across a lone rifleman wandering the same halls with his rifle strapped to his back. He was facing the opposite direction and seemingly oblivious to the I.M.C. Pilot. Alan snuck closer, creeping up on the Militia grunt until being right behind him. The Pilot wrapped an arm around the other man's neck and his knife's point poking the side of the rifleman's head, "Tell me where your prisoners are kept and I'll let you live." Alan gave his ultimatum. Struck with the sudden fear of death, the man gave in with a tremble in his voice.

"D-Down the hall, w-when you at the mess hall, it's on the right. I-It looks like a normal series of residential rooms!" He stuttered out. Well, Alan was a man of his word. The Pilot choked out the Militia soldier until he could no longer feel him struggle against his grip for breath, only then did he let go so the grunt's life was not cut short. Opening up a nearby door, Alan dragged the unconscious man inside and set him down against the wall. Alan would be long gone by the time the enemy woke up anyways so he left him to sleep, stealing his rifle before shutting the door behind him.

Listening to his own enemy's directions, Alan did manage to find what he was looking for: The personal-rooms turned cells. he took a gamble and opened up one of the doors. He was unable to dodge a fist that punched against his stomach which sent him back and made him hit the back of his head against the opposite door. "Anyone- else?" He heard a woman's voice stern but faulter when seeing who it was.

"Why?" Alan groaned from the floor, "Every time I meet a..."

"Alan?" The girl interrupted, "Alan, my dear! It's just like the first time we met!" The same old Katherine said with a laugh to follow suit, ignoring the fact she just injured her friend and rescuer. The man curled and rolled on the ground, hissing in pain until the woman pulled him to his feet in which he stumbled over himself. "Oh, get a grip, you'll be fine!" She reassured, patting his back.

"Maybe- I should have opened another door instead." Alan muttered after catching his breath again from being winded. "What are we dealing with, how many are locked in here?" Alan asked, only for Katherine to wander to each door and unlock them, allowing more and more I.M.C. prisoners to leave their rooms. Isaac groggily left his own room, talking about sleep and how it was always interrupted for him.

"We uh, lost many good people. Zohn and Eli didn't make it." Katherine said, dropping her usual persona, "We're all that's left."

"Come now, we've still got our people back at base, we'll make it out of here one way or another." Alan tried to reassure to some effect. Once events and talks settled down, the group was unsure of what to do now, following Alan as he probably knew the way out. The Pilot opened the same door he had entered through, only to come face to face with an older man in his mid to late 40s. Vincent stood between them, and their easy escape to freedom.

* * *

 **A.N.: A little _too_ 'convenient' to my liking, but necessary for the already established ending that's in the works! No it isn't going to be the next chapter, though to be fair I guess it would be close? Regardless, I need to edit it more before so next week might see the finale. Maybe sooner depending on when the next chapter is completed though, enough of my rambling.**

 **I also almost had to delay this when was on the fritz again, but it appears to be fine now?**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	22. Chapter 22: The Longest Night

"The Longest Night"

"Well call me a 'Frontier Drunk', never would have expected to come across this at any point in my career." Vincent said, hands at his sides with half a smirk of disbelief and confusion. No one on the whole planet would have thought to expect an escape attempt with prisoners having nowhere to flee, let alone one of their enemies, also left behind,

Alan held out an arm that Katherine's stomach and stopped her from moving another step forward, narrowing his now tense gaze upon his former ally. He pushed his hand back, hoping that his few steps in retreat would signal to the others to do the same only for the turncoat Pilot to put his foot in the door to stop it from shutting on him.

"If you're looking for an easy escape out of here, I suggest making a left at the first turn up ahead, should lead you right to the hangar, no guards, no resistance, no problems if you can get out fast enough." The older man advised, the I.M.C. prisoners understandably unwilling to trust the word of a Militia, then again, he hadn't shot them yet so there must have been some element of truth to his offer.

"What's the catch?" Alan asked, taking aim with the rifle he had stolen earlier. At his aim, Vincent raised his hands in surrender and moved aside, allowing a clear path to be made.

"None, go on through. I'm not really supposed to be here anyways."

The rescuer looked back at his unarmed group of prisoners, barely making just over a dozen including himself and the other two Pilots. The man beckoned with two fingers for the others to get moving, handing his weapon to Katherine so that she may protect everyone else while they escape, meanwhile he stood with a watchful eye over the Militia Pilot whom counted the number of heads that went past him. Before long the others had gone from their sight, Alan started to follow suit but his wrist was hastily grabbed by the wrist, prompting the Pilot to turn and throw a punch with his free hand on instinct. It was easily caught.

"Easy there, I'm not here to fight. That much should be obvious by now."

"Then what do you want?" Alan demanded to know, stumbling back to hold his wrist after being let go.

"I was going to tell your friends there that the Militia know of you small hideout."

"As if we didn't know that already." Alan replied with arms now crossed which caused a light laugh from the older man.

"Oh, you've still got the same sass as ya' did back then ha-ha!" Vincent said with one of his knuckles knocking on the top of Alan's helmet, just like he used to back then whenever Alan made such a remark.

"Enough, I don't have much time." Alan reminded, swiping the hand away.

"Alright. Well the Militia are preparing a full-scale assault on the place after overhearing that the I.M.C. fleet may indeed come and rescue you all. The assault is supposed to begin at the first sight of light tomorrow, so I thought I'd just let you know." Vincent said, betraying his own organization to offer intel on the Militia. Where anyone else around, he would have been executed had he been physically caught.

"Why would you tell me this? Tell _us_ this?" Alan asked, curious as to why his friend-turned-enemy was now giving him not only a chance to escape, but information that would otherwise be crucial to the operation.

"I have my reasons," Vincent paused, "But none of which I can say just yet. If only Chris and Iori were here, we'd all get to be together again." He sadly changed topics with a sigh.

"Speaking of whom, why did you lie to Iori?" Alan questioned the man for his deceit.

"Hmm?"

"You told her that someone else killed Chris, but from the sounds of it, you clearly knew it was me that had to do it, why?"

"Because she was already hurt," He said with another sigh of regret, "After Rose and Roy, she was never the same. Too afraid to lose anyone else, if I were to tell her that it was _you_ that did it she would have finally snapped, especially at you. The last thing I wanted was for us to at least leave one another on good terms, but I guess that wish didn't get to come true did it." Vincent explained, leading into a chuckle pushing his back against the steel wall and falling down to the floor at the memory, "We were like a little family, and I just didn't want to see it torn apart, not again."

"Then why did you leave in the first place?"

"Because I, like many others, thought it was the right thing, at first I saw the I.M.C. as nothing more than just another evil after taking down so many civilian craft-"

"The Militia bombed civilian cities, massacred thousands- no, millions in total with their acts of terrorism!" Alan yelled in outrage, knowing full well the extent and effects of the terrorists' quest for 'freedom'.

"And that is what I learned after switching sides." Vincent admitted, "But I couldn't leave. That's what you and I have in common friend, neither of us are capable of breaking a promise."

"Wha-"

"Afraid we are out of time, get out of here." The older man shooed away with a flick of his wrist, "Sad to say that this won't be our last meeting, but I can assure you, the next time will be the final time we speak. There's a stolen Goblin are waiting for you in the hanger, the Militia wanted to use it to infiltrate the compound but it be ashamed if the whole ship went missing along with our escapees!" Vincent gave one last half-hearted chuckle, resting his head against the wall as the younger Pilot sprinted off in the direction of his allies only to be stopped by Vincent's voice, "One more thing, find something else to fight for, everyone needs a cause."

Once he arrived at the bay filled with ships, Alan found the others waiting for him. Just as Vincent said, there were no guards or resistance to their escape, whether he did that himself or it was coincidence was unknown, but either way Alan thought that such an escape without any problems or casualties certainly wasn't normal. Then again, nothing in this situation could be called 'normal'.

\- ( - ) -

In a flash the escaped prisoners and Alan had managed to make it out just in time for an alarm to blare throughout the docked ship. The pilot of the craft laughed at his free space and incoming small-arms fire while everyone else was crammed into the back but no-one was willing to complain if it meant getting out of Militia chains any faster.

Alan wasn't sure of what to think of Vincent's words. From why he did what he did to what reason he had, Alan couldn't even begin to guess on his reasoning save a few, unlikely, answers. Though one thing was certain: They would meet again on the field of battle. Vincent said so himself, and considering his own luck and recent events, Alan might have as well called it gospel. If fate had anything to do with it, he would very well have to kill the last of his ex-team. He already did so before, just how much will this one cost?

"Hey, wake up." Katherine said, interrupting Alan's thoughts. He was surprised to find that they had already landed back at their temporary home, though he had to get to work spreading news of the impending raid. "You alright?"

"No time," Alan rushed to say before getting to his feet and moving past Katherine. She followed after him and soon both broke into a run, the woman chasing after the man which made a few onlookers laugh at the situation of the two. In reality, Alan desperately was in need of finding Vanessa and telling her so that they could organize some level of defense for when the time comes.

It only took a few stairwells and a few doors to find the Captain at a table making notes for herself and a few guards that kept watch over their officer. "Cap- Vanessa, we've got a problem!" Alan shouted, out of breath and holding onto the frame of a door for support. The soldiers inside the room looked at him in silence, expected terrible news or something worse.

"We also have good news, the fleet as decided that we are not to be left to die here. We'll be picked up tomorrow." Vanessa reported, looking up from the few papers in front of her.

"We don't have time to wait. The Militia are coming and we have less than six hours to react accordingly." Alan tried to explain.

"Six- Six hours to what?" The woman asked, being caught off guard at the mention of a Militia assault. A few if the grunts who listened already begun making moves to gather their gear be it to defend the place or pack up and leave.

"At the first sight of light, expect a large force of Militia to be gathering outside our walls." That must have been the main reason the docked Militia ship was all but empty, everyone else was preparing to exterminate the last of the I.M.C. presence on this moon.

"How many?" Vanessa stood up to ask, tense eyes glaring at the Pilot hoping to gather any more information that they could use, "How many hostiles are we expecting, Alan?"

"I-I don't know, hundreds? Maybe a thousand?"

"We number have a hundred and fourteen abled bodies, including non-combatant staff which is nearly a fifth of us. And you're telling me we may be facing upward of _a thousand_?" Vanessa asked for clarification. She wanted to find some comfort in whatever words the man could offer, but not even he could think of a way to pull this off. "So, we lost…" She said in defeat, slumping back in the old chair she sat in.

"Not yet," Alan tried to reassure, offering a hand once more for Vanessa to take, "I don't know what may come once the fighting is done, but we will fight on to our dying breath." Removing his helmet and setting it on the old, rusted table, Alan felt Vanessa's hand's squeeze his own, her eyes filled with both fear and worry for everyone under her current leadership, "I-"

"Damn, Alan would it kill you to slow down!" Katherine interrupted the twos' moment together by gasping for breath between every few words, "Even after I got stopped by a few others you just marched on!"

"Kat," Vanessa started, shaking off her fears and putting on an attitude of strength and confidence, "Sound the alarm and tell everyone to prep for combat, I want those walls garrisoned and reinforced with whatever we have."

"You mean I have run back downstairs?" Katherine wined, falling to her knees which earned her a glare from the other woman. Alan grinned at the sight of Katherine wanting to finally rest up, some things just don't change, and tonight was very well the last night they all could enjoy to their hearts content.

* * *

 **A.N.: Nothing new, at least nothing to say _just_ yet.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


	23. Chapter 23: The Final Reunion

"The Final Reunion"

The last defenders of the I.M.C. survivors said little during their preparation for the final confrontation. Uniform equipment and weapons have all but disappeared as the grunts and handful of regular staff armed themselves with whatever they could get their hands on as the Militia forces surrounded the compound just outside of firing range of all but a single marksman with a Longbow. The two only Phantoms at their disposal had been finally run out of ammo as they made their hit and run attacks against armored units, leaving the pilots of the craft to join the rest of the garrison. The Goblin dropships that have been too heavily damaged to fly safely had been stripped of all their worth and used as solid cover fit with shields and whatever remaining armor hadn't already been taken way. Not one of the brave defenders believed they would survive, let alone win a battle of this scale as the number of Militia troops started to grow more and more, yet not a one turned their backs on the friends and allies that stood by their side. The status of the I.M.C. fleet was unknown however; the stranded personnel were no longer fighting for a chance to go home. Here would be where they would show the insurgent organization that they would fight to the bitter end to protect Earth, her colonies, and the billions of innocent lives whose blood stained the hands of the Militia. It could be a squad, dozens of Titans, even the entire Militia fleet in orbit raining down on the ragtag bunch of grunts and last three Pilots and not one would willingly budge in the face of such overwhelming odds. Were they crazy for pulling such a stunt? Perhaps. It wasn't expected for the I.M.C. soldiers left behind to rally together and still fight on, it wasn't expected that they could prove to be a threat to an entire Militia-controlled moon, and it was thought impossible that they would still challenge the growing might of the revolutionaries.

They could be counted on a single hand: three Pilots and the scraps of equipment they put together. With Isaac and Katherine on Alan's left and right respectively, he looked at his empty hands and the absent Hammond he had given to Vanessa for her personal use. There was his knife, but this was a gunfight, no place for a blade in the heat of combat. Katherine loaded a spare CAR, Isaac armed with only another Hammond, both would need it far more than Alan, but what he lacked in weapons he made up for in heavy support. Alan silently nodded to the two to aid in the defense of the compound, however, even though he was now alone, he had his Titan to rely on. Eager, low on ammo, and ready to die in the defense of her Pilot and companions, Anya offered a hand to Alan as a helping step to enter the Titan for what was to be the last time. "Is now the time to send the message, Pilot?" Anya asked with her soft, though mechanical, Russian accent.

"Delete it." Alan instructed, getting situated in his seat and making himself comfortable in an otherwise dire situation that befell him and the others.

"Are you sure?" Anya asked for his confirmation, knowing the time he spent perfecting it and keeping it safe should he meet his demise. A question mark flashed in the upper-right corner of his vision, Anya's way of alerting him about doing something that seemed a little out of character.

"Well," Alan began, sitting back and waiting for the first shot to ring out, "It was supposed to be routed to the _Solaris_ and more specifically Vanessa's inbox, but now that doesn't matter. If we all die here, that little message will be lost and unread anyways."

"Very well Pilot. Deletion complete. Shall we prepare to die in the defense of the core worlds and their citizens?" She asked another question, unhooking the 40mm cannon from her back.

"Not today," Alan said with a little chuckle in him, "I'm not allowed to just yet."

"It is good to see you in good spirits Pilot; such a sight is rare when you are not with Miss Botosova."

"Well, you already know how far we've come." Alan replied, unable to continue the conversation as a shout of 'incoming' was heard at the concrete walls. The Pilot wanted to join the defense but he knew that he was to be their last offensive option as without the firepower of his Titan, Militia troops could be dropped off by the ship-load. A few even tried to fly close by only to be abruptly shot down from a well-placed shot of the Titan's weapon. It was a shame that such a beautiful day was marred by the carnage and blood about to be spilled, but that was war, always ignorant of the bright blue- well in the case a sort of orange-ish- colored sky and the peace it had compared to the ground battles fought under it.

"That makes two," Anya noted after shooting down another Crow dropship, it was a good thing they were outdated because it would take far more than a few shots to get through an updated Goblin's shields and armor, he found it odd how the Militia managed to win any battle at all back then when they had no Titans or even Pilots. By now small-arms fire had opened up across the complex with the North, East, and Southern, sectors getting their fair share of incoming fire and hostile ground forces. Only the Eastern Sector had saving grace that was the lone Paladin Tank and its proud crew as not only was it the main gate, but enemy Titans were also on an approach to breach the walls. The old rusted gates already looked like they would fall over to begin with, it was only time and I.M.C. construction standards that would determine how much of a beating the old doors would take before finally giving up.

"Incoming Pilots, I repeat, we've got Pilots scaling the walls, north side. We can barely hold! What are your orders, Captain!" Alan could hear a grunt yell over the gunfire and explosions through the comms to whom Vanessa replied.

"Ignore them if you can, maintain your post, and hold of the rest of the Militia's ground forces for as long as you can. Pilots, hunt down those terrorists." She ordered. Alan looked back at the observation deck built above the mountain's entrance. Though he could only see a small figure standing within it, the Pilot could tell she was filled with stress. It was still amazing how well she handled it all, though it could have very well been a facade.

The Stryder and her owner turned back at the sound of creaking metal. Fire and smoke from missiles blind-sided the steel gate that had kept the Militia out like wild animals kept out of animal's pen with a mere fence. It soon failed. In an instant the heavy-set of doors crushed the earth beneath them and from the blackened smoke was the familiar Ogre-chassis of a certain pirate's Titan. This time it had been coated in black paint with red stripes running down its arms and torso making it stand out from the traditional green and orange color-scheme of the Militia's mechs. Alan furrowed his brows as he bitterly remembered the last time he had fought the Titan. It strolled on it with a small number of Militia grunts running at either side of the Ogre's heavy stomps, "I have come to crush you, pitiful machine." The Ogre's deep and rough OS announced.

"I assume our priority target is that overweight Titan?" Anya insulted her foe, remembering too the damage it had caused to her. From the sound of her tone, the smaller Stryder was ready for a second round, only this time there would be one clear victor.

"What you have a grudge or something?"

"I do not wish to be defeated by scrap and spare parts." She spat with a barely audible tone of malice in her voice OS. Alan agreed, taking aim and keeping count of the number of shots he had left in the cannon.

"To think this one would be the first to break through." Alan said as a damaged Atlas appeared at the Ogre's side only to receive a tank shell through its chest thanks to the Paladin that had left its fortified position that was now compromised. "Never would have thought they would be this good at what they do."

As if both Titans made eye contact, the Ogre started to pick up its pace, speeding up to a jog and then a sprint as fast as the tank-like Titan could run. Using the Stryder's agility to his advantage, Alan ducked under an incoming fist before turning to fire twice at the Ogre's back. The larger Titan swung around and knocked the weapon out of Anya's hands, it landing on a squad of Militia grunts with a muffled scream and crushing of bone. Anya quickly returned the favor, slamming into the Ogre a left hook and shoving it away with a great deal of effort as their foe's weight almost locked itself in place. Dodging another punch with ease, the Stryder swung the back of her fist against the hull of the turning Ogre, the facial hatch being knocked clean off as Titan fell to a knee. However, when it turned to face the Stryder once again, Alan and Anya found that its interior had been vacant. Alan was dumbfounded at first, the pirate's empty Titan only meant- Mannes was with the team of Pilots that broke in. "I recommend you exit Pilot." Anya suggested, almost reading his exact thoughts and plan.

"Not yet, more Titans are inbound-" Alan started before Anya turned her back to the Ogre, opening up her hatch as a metal fist slammed into the Stryder's back.

"The Paladin and I shall delay the enemy, you must go now and defeat the enemy Pilots, Alan." She said as the Pilot fell to the broken concrete ground. The biggest mistake would be letting the team of Pilots breach the interior facility and Alan reluctantly followed his own Titan's recommendation, getting up to his feet and preparing to venture into the base's interior.

"You better not die be defeated by that thing." Alan demanded as Anya pushed away an arm and kicked it against a vacant portion of the wall.

"'I do not plan on it'." She quoted her Pilot, whom in turn turned away with one final look of farewell.

He turned around and made a sprint toward the second set of steel doors, running passed a parked Goblin on his left, then his right, almost about to pass a third until a Militia Pilot stepped from behind the craft and stopped him in his tracks with a pistol raised. It was Vincent. He didn't fire, he didn't even keep his aim up for long. "I told you we'd meet again under, though the circumstances aren't pleasant." The man told Alan as he tossed his pistol to the side. Alan was thinking about stepping pass his former squadmate, but every side-step he took, Vincent would copy. "I'm afraid I can't let you go just yet."

"If I don't get through-" Alan yelled before getting cut off.

"Not to worry friend, I 'let slip' a few words to Isaac about the Militia's infiltration squad's plan to 'go for the head'," He said with finger quotes, "Vanessa will be fine and I'm confident she'll make it out of all of this with the least amount of injuries."

"Again, why are you helping me, helping us?" Alan asked, if nothing else he at least wanted answers for why he let him get away when breaking out the captured I.M.C. personnel. "We're your enemy." He repeated.

"Like I said, I have personal reasons. Though I suppose you'll need an actual answer this time. Like I said, we will never be able to speak again after this." Vincent said, removing his helmet and tossing just like he did his weapon. Underneath the expensive equipment was a simple fair-skinned man with a black colored hair that was showing clear signs of greying not including the stress that might have caused some strands to whiten. The one scar he had long ago had grown to a handful, each taking its toll on the man's face who once seemed as lively as a new recruit but now, now it was hard to tell whether there was any light left in the old man. "Just like you, I made a promise, but mine was to fight for family until my dying breath. You know what it's like to bury your own in an unmarked grave on an already fractured world?" Vincent asked Alan, looking at him with somewhat pained blue eyes.

"Not first hand but something similar." Alan muttered, remembering the past as much as he loathed to.

"I know, and I can't begin to imagine just what that did to you."

"Then you already know I have to get through you."

"Why don't you and I have one more training match," Vincent offered, "For old time's sake?"

"I don't follow." Alan admitted, still coming to terms with the fact that the first person to betray him and his team was offering to relive old memories of a better time. He was hesitant of the suggestion, but found himself without any other option but to accept.

"Just a little training, nothing more. I believe you aren't ready for what you may face next." The older man explained. In spite of the chaotic sounds of gunfire, screaming, and metal crunching against each other, Alan accepted with a nod, hoping to end it quickly to get on his way. Vincent put up a guard, beckoning the I.M.C. Pilot to attack first. Alan did so, charging at him with full weight and power behind his first punch in an attempt to end it with one blow, but of course that was denied. Alan's hand was swiftly and efficiently grappled and before he knew it, Vincent was inches away from Alan's face, his arm at the mercy of the more experienced Pilot. "I've already told you this before, don't try to carelessly be 'done' with this." Vincent reminded with a little disappointment in his rough voice, letting Alan go to stumble back a few steps.

"Didn't you also tell me to throw everything I've got?" Alan asked, feeling around his arm to calm it down from the strain on its elbow.

"Yes, but never did I mention to leave yourself exposed. Try again."

The I.M.C. Pilot did as instructed, charging again but this time keeping himself from getting too close. Each attack he did, whether it was another punch or a kick Alan tried his best to break the other man's defenses but failed at every attempt.

"Now you're just not confident in you attacks. You're pulling out of the fight before you can do any damage. Keep on the offensive as much as you-" Vincent was about to finish before a wounded growl and another voice trying to reassure it interrupted their fight. When the two men looked at the origin of the voices, their eyes fell upon two women: Katherine and Vanessa. The former was a bit wounded herself however, the few small cuts on her outfit was nothing serious, especially with her being used to combat and getting injured in fighting. Vanessa, on the other hand, wasn't fortunate to have such training and experience. Blood ran down one arm from a fairly deep cut on her left shoulder and a scratch just above her left brow trickled a little crimson of its own, forcing the woman to keep her eyes shut because of the small drops that ran down the side of her eye. All while being held up by Katherine as Vanessa's right leg appeared to be injured enough to cause a small limp.

"Easy there, we can-" Katherine tried to say to calm down the dark-haired woman from the adrenaline rush she was probably having, "Alan and-" She began, looking to the two other Pilots respectively before setting down Vanessa against a Goblin's hull and drawing a knife to defend herself.

"Now's not the time Kath!" Vincent shouted as missiles with their deafening screech and boom began soaring through the air and hitting the communication relays that were up above, "So much for calling for help." He muttered, looking back to scan where the had left and sure enough, there was another Pilot, a Militia one donned in some personal wear in grey that was a few shades dark with a red cloth tied around his left arm. Mannes, the pirate, the Reaper, whatever it was he went by, casually approached them with a limp body of the only other I.M.C. Pilot being dragged by the collar.

"You know, little miss, I understand you all-," He began, realizing the new company they found and tossing Isaac onto the floor. The fatally wounded Pilot tried to reach out a trembling hand but fell still when the bullet of a Wingman rang out, "Stassov." He growled with grit teeth and poison at the mention of the name.

Alan stood unable to do anything until Vincent shoved his former ally to the ground and took a revolver bullet himself. The older man's blood started to pool on the worn and battle-scarred concrete as he coughed up more and more of it.

"Really?" Vincent shouted, putting both hands to his head in anger, "If it were anyone else…"

Alan scrambled over to a dying Vincent and checked his wounds. It was an odd feeling to him, helping out an enemy, perhaps it was simply his better judgment wanting to make sure the dying didn't have to feel agony for their last moments. He knew second-hand how that was back home. The older man grabbed Alan's shoulder and pulled him closer, "Fight for something!" He choked out before falling back to the earth, motionless with the cold embrace of death taking him away. His last strength, and it was to offer Alan advice. Out of the many things he had similar experience with on the battlefield, orders, last wishes, words of acceptance, this was new.

"Alan," Katherine called, "It's just you and me."

The Pilot got to his feet while Mannes watched, making a note about how 'precious' it was that they would win with 'teamwork'. The Militia Pilot took aim at Katherine and pulled the trigger of his weapon but there was a click and a growl of frustration.

Katherine was the first to react, drawing her knife and going for a stab while Alan could only follow her in the assault. Meanwhile Vanessa spat orders to the other defenders as the Hammond that had fallen beside her had appeared empty. Even when not on the frontlines, it would seem the Pilots in front of the I.M.C. Captain would once more decide the outcome of the battle. Alan watched Katherine be easily pushed aside and Mannes turning his attention to him. Swinging the revolver around to bring down upon Alan. The Pilot threw up an arm and blocked the incoming strike, wrapping his arm around the pirate's and slamming his other fist into his side. Mannes took the blow with a little grunt of pain, but returned with a kick to Alan's chest which knocked him to the ground, but not without his makeshift bludgeoning weapon being stripped from his hand. The Militia Pilot was about to follow up and go for Alan however, Katherine stopped him, cutting the arm that stood in the way of the knife and Mannes's neck.

Alan picked himself up, tossed the revolver aside with the growing piled of discarded items, and charged back into the fight to help his friend. The two could barely keep up, one already was somewhat injured and the other had just come out of another fight, both I.M.C. Pilots were starting to wonder whether they even had a chance at beating the ill-renown man. Nevertheless, they pressed on.

Each time Katherine swiped at Mannes, Alan was right there to fight him when he managed to dodge. He was on the defensive and that was enough motivation for the both of them. By now all three of the Pilots were armed with their own blades, each ducking and weaving between one another's attacks, trying not to get cut by either a stray knife's edge or an intentional stab.

"Come on Alan, we will win!" Katherine rallied, pushing Mannes back against a container with a metallic thud which had him drop his weapon.

"No," Mannes grunted, managing to push off the woman and grab and slam Alan into the container to stun him, "You," The man grabbed another of Katherine's incoming stabs, punching his victim's unsuspecting stomach, taking her own knife from her and stabbing her chest before kicking her away, "Won't." He said, catching his breath with heavy gasps for air and a break.

Alan wanted to shout out to Katherine but found himself only able to wheeze out the name as he too was out of stamina.

"Like I said," Mannes took a breath, running a finger across one of the cuts to see the blood on his gloves, "'No one beats me'." He said. The last remaining I.M.C. Pilot got up and wanted to run over to his fallen friend however, Mannes stepped in the way, "Not this time. Were it not for you, Stassov, I'd-" He started before, Alan interrupted by drawing his own knife and taking a large swipe at the man in anger, an anger that he had narrowly escaped from. The two exchanged blows with neither getting any hits in until Alan was the first to start using his jump-kit to aid him. Alan boosted up enough to thrust a kick into Mannes while the man fell back and skid on the ground, spinning his knife back around from his reverse grip. There were a few more yells at the walls, more guns being fired, more rock and concrete breaking apart from the warzone being held at bay, but none of that mattered now. All that mattered now was to avenge those murdered by this very monster. All that mattered, was revenge.

Mannes charged forward with the help of his own gear, while Alan threw the knife at him, impaling the Pirate's helmet. At least that's what Alan had hoped. Instead, the knife stabbed through Mannes's left forearm with a yelp of pain that didn't stop the man from his sprint forward. Alan's body moved before he could think, his right-hand balling into a fist and with a twist of his hips and strength from his muscles, his knuckles collided into the Militia Pilot's helmet with several cracks and a roaring cry of pain on Alan's part while Mannes was thrown to the ground with the back of his head hitting the ground with an audible sound of the collision.

Alan grabbed his hand but as he tried to sooth it, he felt nothing more than blinding sharp pain and throbbing in the injured hand. Best case scenario was that it was simply bruised thanks to Alan's already healthily strong bones, worst case was that the impact cracked or outright broke a finger's bone or two. Looking down he saw that the other man's visor that was now slightly cracked with its owner twitching on the ground. The Pilot looked over to a resting Vanessa, whom was still trying to organize some sort of defense without a clear sight of the place, and the woman gave him a warm, comforting smile to try and ease him from the death of just about everyone he once knew. It didn't work, but he was about to walk over and help her up until she motioned at the enemy behind him.

"Stassov!" Alan heard Mannes yell, "I will _not_ be defeated by a corporate hound like you!"

Mannes tore the knife from his wounded arm, taking off the helmet with the now free hand for Alan to see a man with several small scars and over his light-skinned, sunburned flesh and shaved scalp with only remnants of what was once light-brown hair. Other parts of him were burned beyond normal, some bits of his right cheek still showing the burn scars that crawled up but avoided his eye, both of which were lined with specks of glass that almost sealed the man's sight with his own blood. Whether it was some rite of passage with his little crew of pillagers and outlaws or if it was a legitimate injury was of no concern to Alan as he only wanted to finish off the already wounded man.

Alan stood ready in south-paw, knowing it would be near impossible to hit as hard as he could with his dominant hand so his left would have to do. The two inched toward the each other, waiting for the other to make the first move that had yet to come. Mannes moved first, throwing a weak jab with his left hand that Alan could easily block but the real threat came in the form of his own knife that barely cut the skin of his upper-right arm. The two wrestled until Mannes, in his own blind fury, grabbed Alan once again and shoved him toward the container, following up for a charge and a stab. Alan, reacting on instinct, punched with his right hand however, the Militia Pilot moved to the side and took hold of it, raising his elbow and breaking Alan's radius with a downward crack as Alan could feel it send a vibration up his spine as he tried hissing with the pain between his teeth, only to let out another blood-curdling yell. His legs felt weak to him, Mannes being the one holding him up until the man took the knife and stabbed the back of Alan's left leg. Alan fell to a knee, receiving a knee to the helmet that at the very least disorientated him and with one last kick to the ground, the I.M.C. Pilot lied on the ground, shivering in pain, and defeat.

"You know what? I almost don't want to kill you. _Almost_." Mannes stated as he eyed up both he and Vanessa whom could only look at the Militia Pilot with eyes burning with anger and sorrow. The man, hovered over Alan, looking down at him in disgust and a vengeful gaze as he looked for a suitable weapon for the kill, until another yell caught the man's attention. Barely seconds later, Alan saw in his blurred vision a white uniform tackle Mannes's figure to the ground.

Whoever it was, Alan could thank them later while he tried to get some rest. From the cold feeling and wet feeling of his leg being soaked in his own blood, to the resurfacing memories of the past he couldn't bury any more, the man let it all overwhelm him as his mind wandered. He just wanted it to be over, he couldn't bring himself to get up and fight anymore, even if he wanted to, his body was unresponsive save for his eyes and the slow turning of his head. It was just like back then, back all those years ago with the dust and smoke of debris and explosives clouding his vision. Shrapnel taken by the bodies that shielded him, bodies that belonged to the only family he knew. Yet that didn't stop the stray rebar from impaling his leg and a rubble of a building crushing his arm while more debris kept it from outright flattening his limb. Just like it was back then, he couldn't do anything as he watched the life fade from eyes that tried to tell him everything would be ok, that he would be safe and cared for. Even over the deafening gunfire and battle cries for 'freedom' that all came haunting him once again, he had kept his attention on the horror of death that had, in that moment, been forever etched into his memory as a scar would remain after a deep wound. Only this one couldn't be forgotten about, couldn't be hidden, couldn't be restored to full health. He was trapped in his own hallucinations, unable to tell whether the I.M.C. soldier that was pulling him into a comforting embrace while he bawled from both the terror and fear was real or just a lucid dream of the past. The gunfire in his memories blended in with those of reality, making the cries and shouts of his own visions and those of reality blend further. Memories he told himself to bury as deep as he could were now free from their prison, running wild while Alan didn't even have the strength to put them down.

"Alan!" The voice of Edgar yelled, breaking through the blockade of Alan's painful memories, "Don't let our deaths be in vain! Get! Up!" Alan was to tired, he had already failed so many times before, what was one more to mark the end of his list? He couldn't see where the grunt was, but even then, his vision was too clouded to see anything.

"Why the hell do you all keep fighting?" Mannes exclaimed, pushing Edgar back against the container, "Why. Can't. You. All. Just. Die?" He finished, tossing the man to the ground and kicking up his fallen R-101. Why was Alan even fighting? Revenge? What a pitiful reason to use. Why can't fate just leave him be either alone or to his death and not have him dangling by the thread?

' _Because you promised not to give up and die.'_ He heard the sweet and gentle voice of Vanessa echo in his head. His eyes snapped open and his view turned to a lone Vanessa unable to move but looked to Alan with a renewed hope in her eyes. If he couldn't kill this one terrorist, would all this have even been worth it? _'Don't dwell on the past.'_ He heard her say again. Even if she had always told him that, it was never enough to reassure him of everything he had once cared about. His family was gone, the friends he knew, even up to now, were dead, all that was left was the one girl that stayed by his side. He wouldn't dare add her to the list. She was right, there was no point in protecting the dead, there was nothing he could do to change what happened in the past, but _she_ wasn't dead nor in the past, she was in the now, she was in the future. Alan wasn't going to let life, nor the damned Militia, take the future from him too. He remembered his family, his old team, Katherine and the rest of Zulu, even the grunts, and felt nothing but the burning anger that had been bottling up inside him he needed strength to get up and fight, to get up and win, but it was strength received only through sacrifice and loss. The injured I.M.C. Pilot wouldn't let their lives be thrown away so carelessly, he wouldn't let it all amount to nothing.

Alan rolled to his front, only able to hold himself up with his shoulder while his one good arm grabbed the handle of his own knife that was embedded into his left leg. As he struggled pushed himself up with his arm and leg, Alan heard an entire magazine from the R-101 rifle empty behind him. Edgar was dead, it would be now or never. No matter what cost it may be, he still had a debt to pay and a promise to keep, he wouldn't fail again. Not here when it mattered most. The man shambled toward the Militia Pilot whom was still catching his breath and unaware of his surroundings. That was fine, a fair fight wasn't fitting for that of an outlaw. Alan, putting weight on his wounded leg and gritting his teeth in pain turned his slow progress into a short burst of speed toward Mannes, knife in one hand while his other one was limp and throbbing with more sharp pain. With one final yell Alan pulled the attention of his foe, Mannes turning around with horrified eyes and mouth agape to find a knife's tip slowly thrusting toward his right eye. The world, for Alan, slowed to a crawl with the rush of new adrenaline as he watched the knife first pierce Mannes eye and slowly dig deeper and deeper with a terrified and desperate cry of pain as Alan fell on top of him, his weigh sealing the other man's fate as it pushed the blade further through Mannes skull before the pirate finally fell still like the other bodies around them. It was done. The last Pilot's hand refused to let go of its tight grip around the knife, pulling out the weapon while Alan himself, caught his breath. After cutting the red band loose from his latest kill, Alan stumbled over to Katherine's body, her cold, lifeless eyes still wide in shock with the knife still in her chest. He fell to his knees next to his friend, she had gone without a goodbye. The best he could do was close the dead woman's eyes, pull the knife from her body, and rest the red band in her hands as a token of _their_ victory.

"I never break a promise." He said with a forced smile. He could see now what Katherine meant now. He too, now hated it, every memory of theirs, every tradition they could make up, even their history was entirely erased. It all died with her as the last member of the 'Last Resorts'. Alan fell back, only to find himself in the arms of Vanessa whom had found the strength to move again.

"We know you don't." She whispered.

"Is this it then?" Alan asked, looking to see whether fate had finally been done toying with him. Vanessa stayed quiet, both of them ignoring the sound of incoming missiles being launched from some Titan far away. As Alan enjoyed his last embrace, he heard the sound of a mechanical dash and a vortex shield catching each of the explosives. Anya, blackened from damage and had bullet impact marks all over her chassis, hurled the ordinance at an incoming Atlas, destroying it in the returned volley.

"No yet." Vanessa replied as an incoming transmission came through Alan's helmet.

"This is 'Stingray-1' to I.M.C. forces, get clear for a run! 'Stingray-2' and '3' follow my lead." He heard a pilot call out. He hadn't even noticed, but looking up to the brightening sky was the fleet of I.M.C. ships and a dozen Goblins and Phantoms inbound on their position. Seconds later a trio of friendly fighters made their quick run, launching missiles and firing their guns without mercy at the incoming Militia forces. Even Anya was caught watching in awe at the sight of their saviors. Though he couldn't move, Alan could still hear the surviving defenders. Some yelled in victory, some cheered for the unannounced support, and though he couldn't hear it, the Pilot could believe that someone fell to their knees and started crying tears of joy. After all, they were people with a life of their own too, Alan would be lying if he said he didn't have a tear run down his cheek, though to his luck, it was still hidden by his helmet.

It didn't take long for reinforcements and waves of Spectres mopped up whatever lingered of the Militia assault. Alan was being dragged into a dropship while he watched two Phantoms strapping heavy-lift gear to a badly-damaged Paladin and Anya, the crew of the former, wounded but kicking rather well, spending some time thanking the Stryder for her aid before being hurried into an evac ship themselves. They had enough time to spare, but according to one of the medics taking a look at Alan, the fleet was to grab everything they can and depart the whole planetary-system.

"I told you we'd make it, that they'd come back for us." Vanessa said with a small smile on her lips as the Goblin's side-door shut closed and the sound of the jump-drive started spooling up.

The Pilot was carefully put down onto the cool floor with his arms and legs spread out as the medics started their long work. He could only see Vanessa hovering over him, the taste of death had once again been pushed aside and placed on hold with the medical team informing the woman that her Pilot would make it. He may have been lucky, but there were plenty of others who didn't make it, "Not all of us." Alan whispered as he felt a few needles puncture his skin and the pain start to numb. So many, friends especially, lost their lives and didn't get to see this moment of triumph over the growing threat established on the frontier, "Not all of us…"

* * *

 **A.N.: And that is all. If you've made it this far, then a deep thank you for sticking around! Personally I wasn't so sure myself if I could even attempt a 'twice a week update', and though there were a few hiccups here and there it managed to stay on schedule just fine!**

 **There's other stuff (story related) going on, but this isn't the place to mention them. Plus I'm not so sure about them just yet and the ones that have a solid foundation, don't really lead anywhere so there isn't much worth to them yet.**

 **When will be the next work? Who knows!  
**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **~Firetoast312**


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